H3lr 


pvm« 


STORES 


BY 

wells  Hawks 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 


David  lYeedman 


Red  Wagon  Stories 


OR 


Tales  Told  Under  the  Tent 


BY 

WELLS  HAWKS 


I.  &    M.   OTTENHEIMER 

PUBLISHERS 

No.  321  West  Baltimore  Street 
Baltimore.  Mu. 


Cover  Design  by 
J.    R.    CROSSLEY. 


Copyrighted  1904. 
I.   &  M.   OTTENHEIMER. 

BALTIMORE,    MD. 


HSto. 


Between  the  shows  there  were  seven  of 
the  circus  outfit  who  would  sit  around  the 
ring  bank  and  on  the  carpet  pads  just  to 
talk.  Here  are  some  of  the  tales  told 
under  the  big  round  top  when  the  tent 
was  empty. 


And  to  those  happy  days  of  bread  and 
preserves,  when  we  bare-footed  kids 
sneaked  out  of  the  backyard  gate  to  the 
circus  lot  and  led  the  spotted  ponies  to 
water,  these  little  yarns  are  affectionately 
dedicated : — 


846000 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The  Press  Agent's  Story V 

The  Old  Graeter's  Lament 14 

The  Bill  Poster's  Visit.. 21 

The    Candy   Butcher's   Dream    oe 

Love 30 

The  Boss  Canvasman's  Yarn 33 

The  Side  Show  Spieler  Speaks 48 

The  Band  Master's  Solo 54 

The  Candy  Butcher  Talks  About 
a  Love  Affair  and  His  Encoun- 
ter With  the  Buckwheat  Man.  59 
The  Concert  Manager  Gets  Rem- 
iniscent   7° 

The  Hands  at  the  Window 75 

The  Concert  Manager  Tells  the 

Boys  an  Elephant  Story 83 


THE   PRESS  AGENT'S 
STORY. 

TpHE  PRESS  AGENT  of  the  Big 
^^  Show  had  formerly  been  dramatic 
editor  of  the  leading  daily  in  Council 
Bluff's.  It  was  his  star  boast  that  he  was 
the  only  critic  in  the  Middle  West  that 
ever  had  the  nerve  to  roast  Joe  Jefferson, 
and  he  said  he  did  it  in  the  interest  of 
art. 

"Art,"  says  he,  "must  be  preserved,  an' 
the  only  way  to  do  it  is  by  knockin'." 

The  Press  Agent  wore  his  hair  long, 
had  a  smooth  face,  and  looked  like  a  po- 
lice reporter  out  on  a  three-column  story 
with  the  facts  coming  in  slowly.  He 
hadn't  much  baggage,  but  he  always  car- 
ried about  a  ream  of  adjective  hit  paper, 
two  lead  pencils,  and  a  pass-pad.  No  man 
ever  heard  him  talk  without  wondering 
what  kind  of  stuff  he  beat  out  on  a  type- 
writer. 

The  saw  dust  spreader  was  smoothing 
out  the  ring  for  the  night  acts  and  the 
rest  of  the  gang  were  sitting  around  roast- 

7 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

ing  the  route  when  the  Press  Agent  came 
through  the  red  curtains  at  the  dressing 
tent  entrance  picking  his  teeth  with  a 
straw.  He  sat  down  on  the  box  where 
the  Greaser  Knife  Thrower  kept  his  keen 
steels,  and  filling  his  pipe  waited  for  a 
break  in  the  conversation.  Then»he  asked 
the  gasoline  man  for  a  match.  After  he 
got  the  fire  he  saw  there  were  no  words 
loose  from  the  ring-bankers,  so  he  starts 
his  skein. 

"Well,  lads,  we  hit  'em  up  hard  at  the 
mat  today,  12,000  on  the  blue  boards  an' 
the  ticket  wagon  window  down  before  the 
harness  is  on  for  the  entree.  S'pose  them 
laddy-bucks  in  No.  2  car  will  say  it  was  a 
good  billin',  but  I'm  tellin'  you  people 
that  this  is  a  readin'  community,  an'  it 
was  the  press  work  that  had  the  coin 
hittin'  the  window  this  date,  an'  that's  no 
cold  cream  con,  either.  The  Gov'nor 
knows  it,  for  he  gives  me  a  good  word 
an'  a  back  pat  jus'  as  the  parade  was 
startin'  for  the  main  highway. 

"I'm  given  youse  the  real  word,  an' 
it's  this — when  you  can  get  'em  readin' 
about  the  Big  Show  you've  already  got 
'em  feelin'  for  change  to  buy,  an'  that's 
as  true  as  ticker  talk.    The  old  man  sees 

8 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

in  the  paper  that  the  Big  Show  will  soon 
be  on  the  lot,  an'  when  he  gets  home  to 
daily  bread  he  tells  it  to  the  old  woman; 
the  kids  get  next  and  there's  no  let  up  on 
papa  'till  he  promises  to  buy  in  for  the 
whole  family.  An'  workin'  one  is  work- 
in'  all — that's  my  motto.  It's  the  press 
work  that  gets  'em  talkin',  an'  it's  the 
talkin'  that'll  make  'em  give  up  even 
when  wheat  is  down  to  48  an'  interest  on 
mortgages  is  starin'  'em  in  the  face.  Get 
the  paper  talk  an'  the  money  is  so  sure 
that  you  can  be  plannin'  new  acts  for  next 
season  before  the  first  pasteboard  hits 
the  bottom  of  the  red  box  on  the  gate. 

"But,  say,  it  ain't  no  children's  game 
to  get  this  paper  talk.  The  good  old 
days  when  you  could  blow  into  the  news- 
paper offices  with  a  loud  vest  and  a  tiger 
claw  hangin'  on  your  watch  guard  is 
done.  Them  times  the  old  agent  would 
lay  down  a  cigar  on  the  editor's  desk, 
spread  a  lot  of  salve  about  the  greatest 
yet  and  the  only  one  in  captivity  story, 
and  then  work  the  gag  'write  me  some- 
thin',  old  man.'  But  them  days  is  strict- 
ly past.  It's  a  new  make  Up  now,  an'  a 
new  line  of  talk  that  wins  'em.  You  want 
to  enter  quiet  like  just  as  if  you  were  one 

0 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

of  them  Sunday  school  boys  with  a  write- 
up  on  a  rally  in  the  church  basement.  The 
editor  gives  you  the  size-up  for  this,  an' 
when  you  says  'I'm  ahead  of  the  Big 
Show  comin'  25th  and  26th,'  he's  so  sur- 
prised that  he's  glad  to  see  you,  an'  it's 
once  aroun'  the  track  before  the  bunch 
sees  the  flag  that  he  asks  you  out  to  drink 
before  you  spring  your  pass-pad.  And, 
if  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  soft  talking 
Jim  Jay  Brady  and  have  it  passed  off  for 
gospel. 

"It's  the  approach  that  makes  the  cen- 
ter shot  this  new  century.  Go  in  easy,  be 
skimp  with  your  talk,  don't  spread  the 
salve  too  thick,  an'  give  'em  clean  copy — 
that's  the  game;  be  you  ahead  of  Henry 
Irving  with  ten  carloads  of  stuff,  a  dinky 
little  farce  comedy  with  a  society  dame 
doin'  the  lead,  a  melodrama  with  a  real 
convict  a-cracking  the  safe,  or  one  of 
them  Broadway  big  ones — no  matter,  it's 
the  same,  an'  what  goes  for  them  goes 
for  the  Big  Show,  whether  you've  got  G8 
cars  on  the  sidin',  or  you  have  slipped  in 
after  night  with  rubber  boots  on — and 
that's  no  Tody  Hamilton  catch  line. 

"But  you  don't  want  to  be  too  certain; 
you  can  get  your  chances  in  this  line  just 

10 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

as  easy  as  in  the  shootin'  gallery  when  its 
bullets  against  clay  pipes.  Some  of  the 
boys  that  handles  the  copy  for  the  Eastern 
press  can  put  up  a  frost  that  would  keep 
Chicago  beef  around  the  world  in  a  sail- 
in'  ship.  But  you  can  melt  'em  if  you 
make  good.  Remember  hittin'  Boston  las' 
season  an'  runnin'  up  against  one  of  these 
heady  boys  with  a  foldin'  forehead.  I 
give  it  to  'em  easy,  an'  when  I  says  circus 
he  looks  at  me  through  his  windows  an' 
says  so  haughty: 

"'Ah,  the  circus!  Quite  a  diverting 
entertainment.  Originated  with  the 
Greeks.'  , 

"Now  wouldn't  that  make  you  itch? 
Me  mind  gets  to  chasm'  'roun'  for  a  prop- 
er come-back,  an'  I  tries  to  recollect  the 
names  of  some  of  them  old  guys  what 
went  paddlin'  'roun'  in  a  sheet  an'  san- 
dals spittin'  out  wise  words  that  no  one 
has  forgot.  An'  mem'ry  lands  me  at  the 
'right  dock,  so  I  han's  this  to  the  college 
boy: 

'Yes,'  sez  I,  'I  believe  it  was  Aris- 
tophanes who  wrote  an  epic  on  the  circus 
t<>  be  read  at  one  of  Nero's  spring  open- 


in  s. 


11 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"The  words  is  hardly  out  of  me  mouth 
when  he  gives  me  one  of  those  looks  that 
would  have  made  Peary  thought  he  had 
found  the  pole.  So  I  lays  me  copy  on 
the  desk  and  gives  five  bells  to  back  water 
an'  I'm  in  the  elevator.  An'  so  help  me 
Bob,  I  hardly  reaches  the  pavement  be- 
fore I  sees  sheets  of  paper  flutterin'  in 
the  air  an'  me  copy  falls  on  the  asphalt. 
The  college  boy  had  lifted  it.  Now  you 
would  think  that  it  was  a  sheet  that 
roasted  us.  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  He 
gives  us  a  two-column  write-up  and  three 
half  tones  that  had  me  up  to  the  bar  an' 
dizzy  for  a  day.  The  worst  will  fool 
you. 

"An',  say,  that  reminds  me.  Remem- 
ber when  we  was  playin'  the  week's  run 
in  Chicago  las'  July?  Well,  I'd  been  skat- 
in'  roun'  to  the  papers  an'  buyin'  drinks 
for  the  press  boys,  an'  it  was  joggin' 
along  to  three  on  the  dials  when  I  remem- 
bers I  have  a  bed  at  the  hotel.  It  was  out 
near  the  lot,  an'  I  starts  out  to  walk.  I'm 
crossin'  the  railroad  tracks  when  a  weary 
steps  out  an'  asks  me  for  a  match.  I  gives 
up,  when  another  comes  into  the  talk  an' 
says,  'Give  us  money.'  Say,  I  didn't  have 
but  thirty  cents,  an'  I  gave  up.     But  the 

12 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

highwaymen  thought  I  was  lyin',  an'  was 
going  to  tap  me  when  I  says,  'Now,  boys, 
let's  argue  this  out.'  So  I  takes  them  two 
Jesse  Jameses  under  a  lamp  post  an'  gives 
them  a  josh  talk  on  the  Big  Show  that  has 
'em  serfy." 

"Well,"  said  the  Boss  Canvasman,  who 
was  always  interested  when  there  was  any 
fight  talk,  "what  happened,  what  hap- 
pened ?" 

"What  happened?"  says  the  Press 
Agent.  "Hear  me !  I  takes  out  me  pass- 
pad  an'  writes  passes  for  them  robbers 
until  a  policeman  comes,  when  I  turns  'em 
over.  An'  that  ain't  all ;  I  gets  a  column 
story  in  each  of  the  afternoon  sheets  on 
how  the  Press  Agent  of  the  Big  Show 
captures  two  bold  boys,  an'  the  Gov'nor 
gives  me  the  good  word  and  a  double  X, 
an'  I  says  thankee  an'  repeats  me  motto, 
'An'  workin'  one  is  workin'  all,'  to  every 
barkeeper  that  was  sellin'  after  midnight 
that  evenin'." 


13 


THE   OLD  GRAFTER'S 
LAMENT. 

fT  HE  OLD  GRAFTER  had  corns  on 
\^  his  knuckles  from  holding  green- 
backs between  his  fingers. 

He  looked  a  trifle  seedy  about  the  cos- 
tume, but  his  moustache  was  waxed — the 
moustache,  too,  was  dyed  and  you  saw 
the  reason  when  he  took  his  hat  off.  The 
Old  Grafter  wore  a  celluloid  collar  and  a 
polka  dotted  dickey,  and  when  his  vest 
was  opened  it  showed  up  the  shyness  of 
his  linen. 

The  Concert  Manager  was  springing 
gossip  about  the  principal  clown  who  was 
having  trouble  with  his  wife  who  did  the 
iron  jaw  swing.  He  saw  the  Old  Grafter 
coming  across  the  ring  and  he  stopped, 
for  it  was  pretty  well  known  that  old- 
timer  wouldn't  stand  for  scandal.  The 
Old  Grafter  bit  off  enough  tobacco  from 
the  canvasman's  plug  to  make  a  comfort- 
able quid  and  then  sat  down  on  the  snake 
box.  He  was  looking  sad  and  there  was 
silence.     Presently  he  sent  a  splash  of 

14 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

juice  up  against  the  center  pole  and  after 
shifting  the  quid  he  opened  up. 

"Say  fellers,  I've  been  cutin'  the  cards 
since  John  Robinson  had  money  in  tent 
shows  an'  I've  come  to  the  verdict,  it's 
this — when  you've  got  the  green  in  your 
pocket  an'  the  suckers  is  tipped  off  they'll 
crowd  you  as  thick  as  flies  on  the  pop- 
corn pile,  but  when  there  ain't  no  coin 
to  jingle  you  kin  get  so  lonesome  that 
you'll  go  to  bed  with  a  hot  water  bot'l  for 
company." 

This  bit  of  wisdom  impressed  the  gang, 
for  no  one  spoke,  and  the  Old  Grafter 
threw  his  reversing  bar  and  chinned  out 
this — 

"The  old  days  is  gone  an'  they's  left 
the  circus  graft  on  a  weedy  sidin'  with 
no  roun'  trips  back  to  the  Ian'  of  prom- 
ise. Them  was  the  one  ring  days  an'  in 
them  times  there  was  alius  fodder  for  the 
hogs.  Today  it's  one  ring,  two  rings, 
three  rings  and  a  stage — the  biggest  tent 
on  earth,  but  for  the  grafter — nothing 
nothin'.  Me,  what  use  to  turn  the  shank 
of  the  week  with  a  bigger  wad  than  the 
principal  bareback  gets,  me  makes  today 
a  dirty  twenty  on  percentage  an'  sellin' 
reserved  seats.     I'm  ashamed  to  look  the 

15 


Bed  Wagon  Stories. 

old  days  in  the  face.  Why  say  in  them 
days  many  a  time  the  proprietor  of  the 
Big  Show  was  touchin'  the  grafter  for 
cash  when  business  was  bad  an'  today  so 
diffrent,  so  different — if  I  gets  into  a 
poker  play  on  the  train  an'  the  ante's  a 
nickel  I've  got  to  reach  twice  to  find  the 
coin.  If  I'd  had  the  good  sense  what's  in 
Bill  McGinnis  head  I'd  a  bought  a  little 
road  tavern  like  he  did  twenty  years  ago 
an'  I'd  a-had  a  bank  book  roostin'  back 
of  the  bar.  But  I  thinks  there's  still  some- 
thin'  doin'  my  end  an'  I  waits  an'  loses — 
and  what  do  I  get — a  couple  of  treasuries 
and  some  change  at  the  pay  off  durin' 
the  season  with  crackers  and  cheese  for 
me  an'  the  old  woman  in  the  winter.  It's 
the  difference  'tween  horse  radish  an'  saw 
dust  an'  its  got  me  slippin'  back. 

"I'll  tell  you  fellers  somethin'  'bout  the 
old  days.  Twas  'bout  '76  an'  we  was 
graftin'  with  a  one  ring  outfit.  We  struck 
good  crops  and  sunny  weather  in  the  one 
nighters  in  the  Ohio  valley.  The  farm- 
ers had  money  an'  there  was  peaches  in 
the  orchard  for  every  boy  with  the  troup 
that  had  a  bag  of  tricks.  Everybody  was 
standin'  in  on  the  graft  an'  we  had  a  fixer 
two  days  ahead  so  there' d  be  no  call.    We 

16 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

was  carryin'  a  car  with  the  lay  out  an' 
four  tin  horns  that  was  science  on  faro 
and  turnin'  the  wheel.  The  big  game  was 
invited  to  the  car  an'  there  was  alius  a 
set  out  an'  sumthin'  to  drink.  The  little 
fish  was  worked  on  the  lot  an'  there  was 
days,  many  days  when  the  graft  was 
mor'n  the  ticket  wagon  count  up,  an'  the 
rake  off  was  loafin'  'bout  par,  continuous. 
Good  days  them,  me  boys,  for  ev'ry  body 
from  the  boss  of  the  outfit  down  to  the 
stake  driver.  Money  was  comin'  easy  an' 
when  there  was  any  protestin'  on  the  part 
of  the  patrons  an'  it  got  to  fists,  or  gun 
play  we  passed  along  the  Hey  Rube  an' 
there  was  Gettysburg  till  mornin'  if  they 
was  lookin'  for  battle. 

"The  best  burg  we  hit  was  a  lit'l  set- 
tlement where  we  had  a  two  mile  haul  up 
the  pike  from  track  to  lot.  Everything 
was  ripe  for  graftin'  an'  we  was  ready 
for  harvest.  Seems  like  a  reform  com- 
mittee had  to  hit  down  all  the  games  and 
the  folks  was  hungry  for  gamlin'.  The 
ers  in  No.  1  car  piped  us  off 
on  conditions  an'  it  was  said  that  them 
paste  spreaders  traveled  off  with  a  roll 
from  stud  polker  in  the  car  after  the  bills 
was  on  the  stands. 

17 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

They  wuz  on  the  lots  waitin'  for  us 
when  the  boss  landed  to  lay  off  the  pitch 
for  the  round  top.  we  wuz  only  usin'  one 
then  an'  had  no  animals  to  speak  of.  The 
fakirs  got  in  the  game  early  an'  trans- 
parent cards  from  gay  Paree  was  the  first 
bait  and  bitin'  was  good.  'Fore  the  pa- 
rade started  all  hands  was  busy  on  the 
lot  takin'  care  of  the  games  an'  say  the 
farmers  had  it  with  'em  in  rolls.  The 
foxy  boy  in  the  ticket  wagon  has  all  his 
bad  coin  ready  and  the  constable  with  the 
badge  has  been  fixed  with  a  ten  to  see 
there's  no  argument  when  short  change 
is  handed  out. 

"Oh !  we  worked  systematic  them  days. 

"Well,  say,  before  the  band  had  struck 
up  the  grand  march  for  the  entree  gold 
bricks  wuz  sellin'  like  cod  fish  cakes  at  a 
nigger  camp  meetin'  an'  the  boys  what 
was  workin'  the  shells  had  to  lay  off  to 
get  the  stiffness  out'er  their  fingers. 

"I  hates  to  tell  it,  I  hates  to  tell  it  in 
the  days  there's  nothing'  doin'. 

"You  see  I  was  cappin'  for  the  boss  of 
the  show  an'  say  that  day  keeps  me  busier 
than  a  man  drivin'  sheep.  The  outfit  was 
gettin'  thirty-five  per  cent,  of  the  graft  an' 
if  the  partic'lar  grafter  who  was  gettin' 

18 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

the  coin  failed  to  come  up  we  se'ed  that 
he  was  prop'ly  turned  over  to  the  off'cers 
of  the  law  an'  we  did  the  prosecutin'  on 
the  groun'  that  we  was  runnin'  a  strictly- 
moral  show.  Say,  while  I  was  watchin', 
a  farmer  with  a  bunch  of  weeds  under  his 
chin  an'  a  face  like  a  quince  comes  up  to 
me  an'  makes  a  holler.  Somebody  had 
touched  him  for  his  wad  'fore  he  could 
get  to  the  games  an'  he  was  dead  sore,  i 
se'ed  that  he  was  goin'  to  make  trouble 
so  I  remembers  that  his  wagon  is  standin' 
in  the  dirt  road  by  the  lot.  I  gives  a 
stakeman  the  tip  he  kicks  the  off  bay  in 
the  flanks  an'  there's  a  runaway.  The 
corn  cutter  chases  after  his  team  an'  for- 
gits  that  he  ever  had  a  roll. 

"An'  say  at  night  down  in  the  car  the 
air  was  hot.  The  tin  horns  was  busy  and 
coin  was  droppin'  like  rotten  apples  in  a 
mill  race.  The  boys  what  was  dealin'  the 
faro  had  monkeyed  with  the  deck  an'  it 
was  far  to  the  bad  for  the  spenders.  'Bout 
time  to  start  haulin'  for  the  cars  two  bur- 
ly boys  begins  to  talk  fight  an'  it  looks 
like  Hey  Rube  all  aroun'.  One  sticks  his 
knuckles  into  me  face  an'  I  says  to  him 
sort'er  fierce  like. 

19. 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Say,  young  fellow,  if  youse  lookin'  for 
fight  I'll  git  one  of  the  boys  to  stick  his 
teeth  in  your  neck  an'  you'll  change  your 
mind. 

"There  was  no  gun  playin'  but  there 
was  a  lot  of  chinnin'  and  cussin'  but  we 
finally  gets  the  tin  horns  out  an'  starts  'em 
up  the  road  to  the  first  section.  The  gang 
is  hot  after  us  an'  there  was  only  one 
thing  saved  us.  Jes'  as  the  crowd  was 
closin'  in  I  sees  the  tiger  den  with  the  two 
blacks  pullin'  it  comin'  over  the  hill.  I 
chases  forward  to  the  trainer  an'  when 
the  cage  gits  up  close  we  jes'  shoves  them 
two  tin  horn  dealers  in  the  den  with  the 
tigers  an'  saves  their  lives." 

"Never  could  make  a  return  date  there, 
could  you,  Bill  ?"  asked  the  Boss  Canvas- 
man  as  he  made  one  of  the  spotted  coach 
dogs  take  a  jump  through  his  hands. 

"Return  date,  well  I  should  reckon." 
Went  back  there  in  two  months  an'  still 
foun'  'em  ripe.  But  there  was  only  one 
way  to  do  it.  The  Boss  had  to  paint  over 
all  the  cars  an'  wagons  an'  change  the 
name  of  the  show.  The  hay  boys  thought 
it  was  a  new  outfit. 


20 


THE  BILL  POSTER'S  VISIT. 

fT  HE  BILL  POSTER  was  a  stranger 
^^  to  most  every  one  in  the  outfit. 
He  traveled  a  month  ahead  of  the 
show  on  Advertising  Car  No.  2,  and 
while  he  hung  around  during  the  run  in 
New  York  he  never  got  well  enough 
acquainted  to  mix  in  with  the  ring  bank 
squatters.  While  the  outfit  had  great 
respect  for  him,  and  especially  for  his 
work,  he  wasn't  generally  understood, 
and  this  did  not  keep  his  popularity  up 
to  par.  He  always  seemed  solid  with  the 
business  staff  and  called  the  assistant 
treasurer  by  his  first  name,  and  these 
two  conditions  were  known  to  the  saw- 
dust boys.  They  always  took  off  their 
hats  to  anybody  on  the  staff,  and  the  man 
in  the  ticket  wagon  was  only  known  at 
the  pay-off.  Then,  too,  he  dressed  well 
and  wore  a  diamond,  that  is,  a  real 
one,  and  altogether  his  financial  condi- 
tion was  too  good. 

But  for  some  reason  or  other  the  Bill 
Poster  did  happen  back  on  the  show  one 

21 


Bed  Wagon  Stories. 

afternoon.  Just  after  the  matinee,  when 
the  gang  sat  down  on  the  bank  for  the 
spiel,  he  was  seen  walking  across  the 
track,  and  the  boys  at  once  began  to 
speculate  on  what  brought  the  paste 
spreader  back  to  home.  Some  of  them 
thought  it  was  for  a  call-down,  and  the 
concert  manager  declared  that  was  the 
cause,  for,  said  he,  "I  never  seen  a  town 
billed  so  rotten  as  this  un."  But  the  gaso- 
line man,  who  was  a  close  observer, 
thought  different.  He  knew  that  there 
was  a  little  fairy  working  in  the  Fall  of 
Rome  ballet  that  was  sweet  on  the  paste 
boy,  and  he  put  the  rest  of  the  crowd 
wise  before  the  conversation  got  too  far 
from  the  shore. 

"Cert'nly,"  he  said.  "Didn't  I  see  the 
guy  in  his  plaid  rags  ev'ry  night  when  he 
was  playin'  the  Garden,  gittin'  the  little 
lady  at  the  dressin'  room  door  and  blowin' 
her  off  to  butter  cakes  an'  coffee  before 
she  chases  to  the  bridge  an'  home." 

The  gasoline  man  was  getting  real  gab- 
by on  the  love  affair,  when  the  Bill  Poster 
came  through  the  red  curtains  over  the 
dressing  tent  entrance  and  walked  across 
the  ring  to  where  the  gang  sat  in  the 
shadows.    He  had  a  sassy  little  "Howdy" 

22 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

for  everybody  and  then  passed  around  a 
box  of  Turkish  cigarettes.  Everybody 
passed  it  up,  and  the  Boss  Canvasman  bit 
off  a  two-by-three  chew  from  his  plug 
and  looked  sour. 

"Slipped  back  to  see  the  Boss,''  said  the 
Bill  Poster,  as  he  lighted  one  of  the  Tur- 
kish boys  with  a  match  he  took  out  of  a 
sterling  box  that  had  a  beer  ad.  on  it. 
"Ain't  no  secret;  I  want  a  transfer.  I'm 
good  an'  tired  of  the  slow  work  on  No. 
2  car,  an'  so  I  gets  a  day  off  an'  runs  back 
to  see  if  the  Boss  won't  put  me  with  the 
opposition  crew." 

The  gang  was  silent.  Nobody  had 
asked  for  the  why,  so  nobody  commented 
on  it.  The  fact  that  he  was  going  to  have 
nerve  enough  to  ask  to  get  in  the  opposi- 
tion crew  filled  the  concert  manager  with 
disgust,  for  he  knew  something  about  bill 
posting,  and  also  knew  that  it  took  .1 
triple-plated  crackerjack  to  hold  a  place 
with  this  crowd  of  rush  pasters  of  a 
three-ring    outfit. 

"There's  nothin'  to  it,"  continued  the 
Bill  Poster,  "gettin'  into  a  town  where 
ev'rything  is  dead  ready,  all  the  boards 
up,  and  nothing  to  do  but  paste.  I  want 
a  little  excitement.    I  alius  gets  it  in  the 

23 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

winter,  when  I'm  billin'  a  hall  show. 
Many  a  time  I've  laid  me  bundle  of  lithos 
under  a  doorstep  to  punch  some  guy  who 
was  teariiv  down  my  stuff  in  saloons 
where  I'd  spent  up  me  money,  and  then 
hang-in'  his  stuff  in  the  window.  I  tell 
you  the  opposition  crew  is  the  crowd  to 
have  the  ginger.  When  your  car  is 
hangin'  up  on  a  grassy  sidin'  an'  you  gits 
a  wire  that  the  other  show  is  routin'  three 
days  ahead  of  your  own  bookin's,  it 
makes  you  jump.  The  boss  wires  the 
head  of  the  gang  to  jump  for  the  town 
and  beat  'em  up/  Beat  'em  out,  but 
on  the  level,  legitimate — but  beat  'em 
up.  Don't  tear  down  none  of  their 
billin',  but  kill  it  if  you  have  to  buy  the 
side  of  the  Presbyterian  meetin'  house  to 
git  a  showin'  for  them  nine-colored 
twenty-eight  sheet  stands." 

As  far  as  the  gang  on  the  bank  was 
concerned,  the  Bill  Poster  was  talking 
Greek,  and  he  had  'em  wingin'.  The 
Concert  Manager  thought  he  was  "next," 
but  his  coupling  broke  before  his  under- 
standing left  the  city  limits.  Just  then 
the  Press  Agent  of  the  Big  Show  hap- 
pened in  and  the  talk  hadn't  gone  three 
lengths  before  the  Bill  Poster  and  the 

24 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

newspaper  man  crossed  bayonets.  Both 
were  doing  the  publicity  gag,  and  both 
had  a  well  set  and  riveted  idea  that  each 
one  and  not  the  other  was  bringing  the 
people  into  the  tent  and  giving  the  show 
a  good  gate  to  send  back  on  the  state- 
ment to  the  high  hat  boys  in  the  city  who 
were  doing  the  financing. 

"Let  me  tell  you  something,"  said  the 
Press  Agent,  as  serious  as  if  he  was 
arguing  to  get  a  half  column  write-up  on 
fourteen  dollars'  worth  of  advertising  in 
the  only  daily  in  the  town.  "Let  me  tell 
you.  These  days  the  people  who  are 
spending  money  for  amusements  reads 
the  papers,  and  it's  the  paper  talk  that 
lands  the  coin  at  the  window.  I  know 
what  I'm  talkin'  about.  Bill  posting  is 
all  right,  but  it's  the  newspaper  work  that 
•  the  real  singin'." 

'•Come  off!"  said  the  Bill  Poster. 
"You're  only  pluggin'  your  own  job. 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  boss 
of  this  outfit  would  keep  all  the  printin' 
shops  in  Cincinnatty  goin'  night  an'  day 
to  git  out  the  wall  stuff  if  they  didn't 
think  it  was  some  good.  An'  say,  they 
wouldn't  be  rnnnin'  three  billin'  cars 
ahead  of  this  here  show  if  there  wasn't 

25 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

some  comeback  to  the  money  they  was 
blowin'.  Why,  say,  what  do  you  think 
they  are?  Your  press  work  is  all  right, 
an'  my  bill  postin'  is  all  right,  an'  you've 
got  to  have  both." 

"Well,  maybe  you're  right,"  said  the 
Press  Agent;  "I  guess  they  use  the  billing 
to  emphasize  my  work." 

"I  don't  know  so  sure  what  you  means, 
partner,"  said  the  Bill  Poster,  "but  the 
Boss  of  our  car  riggers  it  out  this  way: 
He  says  that  the  readin'  in  the  papers 
about  the  big  show  makes  'em  look  at  the 
pictures  on  the  wall.  And,  says  he,  the 
pictures  on  the  wall  makes  'em  read  what 
is  in  the  papers.  An',  say,  he's  been  past- 
in'  since  the  John  Robinson  d«ys." 

"Guess  he's  right,"  said  the  Press 
Agent. 

This  last  statement  hit  the  gang  as  real 
good  sense,  and  they  half  agreed  that  the 
Bill  Poster  knew  something  about  his 
business. 

"I  tell  you,  boys,"  continued  the  Bill 
Poster,  as  he  took  a  seat  on  the  sawdust 
pile  and  lighted  another  one  of  the  Sul- 
tan's dreams,  "in  me  dull  moments,  when 
we  is  travelin'  an'  there's  nothin'  to  do 
but  layin'  out  paper  an'  gittin'  the  buckets 

26 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

ready,  I  riggers  it  out  this  way:  You  can 
git  'em  with  the  paper  talk  all  right;  but 
there's  one  thing  you  can  do  with  good 
bill  postin'  and  litho  work,  an'  it's  this, 
you  can't  make  'em  read  the  papers,  bu-:, 
bless  me,  you  can  make  'em  see  bill  post- 
in'.  Say,  me  an'  the  gang  I  work  with  in 
New  York  have  sniped  the  subway  fence 
so  hard  with  red-on-yellows  that  you 
would  think  there  was  nothing  else  on 
Broadway.  Did  you  see  'em  ?  Well,  you 
bet.  There  was  so  much  color  stickin' 
along  the  ditch  that  it  hurt  your  eyes 
when  you  rode  by  in  a  car.  That's  what 
I  claims  for  proper  billin'.  You  can  git 
it  where  they've  got  to  see  it. 

"Say,  to  prove  what  I  says  is  right,  I'll 
tell  you  a  little  experience  I  has.  I  was 
doin'  the  litho  work  for  a  cheap  price 
house  that  was  playin'  the  old  favorites 
with  a  stock.  They  puts  on  'The  White 
Squadron.'  The  boss  comes  to  me  and 
says,  'Look  here,  Jim,  I  wants  you  to  do 
your  best  with  this  piece;  its  costin'  us 
a  lot  of  money  to  get  it  on,  and  we  wants 
to  get  it  back.  There's  a  diamond  stud 
coming  to  you  if  you  gets  what  I  calls  a 
good  showinV  Say,  I  would  'a'  done  it 
anyhow  for  them  kind  words,  but  I  says 

27 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

I'll  git  that  diamond  if  I  puts  bills  all  over 
the  trees  in  Central  Park  an'  goes  up  in 
stripes  for  ten  years  for  doin'  it.  I  was 
thinkin'  all  the  time  some  new  gag  to 
work,  when  one  mornin'  comin'  down  I 
reads  that  there's  a  yacht  race  in  Harlem 
river  that  afternoon.  You  know,  boys, 
'The  White  Squadron'  is  one  of  them 
naval  pieces,  an'  has  a  lot  of  ships  in  it. 
Well,  the  Sunday  before  I'd  pasted  up 
a  lot  of  one  an'  a  half  sheet  boards  with 
type  an'  litho  stuff,  an'  I  has  it  loaded  in 
a  wagon  ready  to  git  out  on  the  street 
some  night  and  sit  the  boards  in  door- 
ways. But  no,  says  I.  Ale  partner  an' 
I  drives  the  team  out  to  the  Harlem  River 
bridge.  The  river  is  so  thick  with  tugs 
and  launches  full  of  people  to  see  the 
boat  race  that  you  can  hardly  find  the 
water.  We  waits  until  the  race  starts,  an' 
then  we  dumps  them  boards  into  the  river, 
carefully  like,  so  they  will  fall  with  the 
picture  side  up.  They  hits  the  current 
and  starts  floatin'  down.  They  all  seems 
to  cling  together,  and  make  a  big  raft,  an' 
all  you  can  see  is  'White  Squadron.' 
Everybody  on  the  bridge  and  the  boats  is 
a  readin'  and  laughin',  and  we  knows  it's 
the  showin'  of  our  lives.     And  say,  the 

28 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

boards  keeps  on  driftin'  wid  the  current 

an'  gits  so  thick  that  when  the  guys  in 

the  paper  boats  hits  that  part  of  the  river 

they  gits  stuck  and  the  race  has  to  be 

called  off." 

******* 

"Well,"  said  the  Press  Agent,  coolly, 
"did  the  show  do  any  business?" 

"Business!"  replies  the  Bill  Poster; 
"you'd  a  thought  there  was  a  fire  in  the 
neighborhood  ev'ry  night,  the  crowd  was 
there  so  thick  fightin'  to  git  in.  An'  say, 
the  guys  what  got  broke  up  in  the  boat 
race  is  so  stuck  on  the  joke  that  they  gives 
a  theatre  party  an'  the  papers  is  full  of  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Press  Agent,  "and  it 
took  the  press  agent  to  get  that  in  the 
papers." 

"But  the  bill  posters  got  'em  in  the 
house,"  retorted  the  Bill  Poster,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  had  knocked  the  local 
welterweight  over  the  ropes. 


29 


THE  CANDY  BUTCHER'S 
DREAM  OF  LOVE. 

♦JTT  WAS  generally  conceded  that  the 
Candy  Butcher  was  the  handsom- 
est man  in  the  outfit.  To  be  sure, 
the  gent  who  did  the  sixty-one  horse 
act  in  Ring  Three  was  a  Charlie  boy  for 
good  looks,  but  it  was  only  when  he  was 
in  the  red  coat  and  working.  When  he 
left  the  dressing  tent  and  went  red  light 
hunting  in  a  one  night  stand  he  looked 
like  a  canvasman  on  a  visit  home  to  his 
people,  but  he  was  a  hot  card  when  he 
had  the  dicer  on  in  the  horse  act.  It  was 
so  different  with  the  Candy  Butcher — he 
was  always  dressed  up  and  he  never 
looked  like  he  felt  it. 

No  one  ever  saw  the  Candy  Butcher 
wear  a  coat,  but  his  checked  trousers  were 
always  creased  whether  the  big  show  was 
playing  a  one  night  in  Keokuk  or  doing 
a  run  in  the  Madison  Square  Garden  over 
in  the  hot  city.  And  he  always  wore  a 
vest,  but  it  was  never  buttoned  and  there 
was  a  red  striped  shirt  with  one  of  those 

30 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

Montana  boys  screwed  in  the  bosom  right; 
under  the  dickey  dot  of  a  bow.  The  vest, 
was  something  to  speak  about — it  had  the 
band  wagon  way  to  the  bad  on  the  dis-1 
tribution  of  colors  and  looked  like  page 
89  in  a  wall  paper  drummer's  sample 
book.  There  was  a  shiny  chain  with  am 
elk's  tooth  and  a  tiger's  claw  and  in  one 
vest  pocket  was  a  date  book  with  a  tooth 
brush  and  a  blue  pencil  doing  a  duet  on 
the  other  side  of  the  rainbow.  The 
Candy  Butcher  always  wore  pink  under-r 
wear  and  had  his  sleeves  rolls  up  to  his, 
elbows.  And  you  don't  want  to  forget' 
the  little  miniature  of  "blondy"  that  he, 
had  pinned  right  over  his  blood  pump. 

And  as  a  matter  of  detail  the  Candy! 
Butcher  always  had  this  get  up  the  whole 
season  and  no  grease  spots  ever  scored} 
— he  was  just  the  same  whether  it  was1 
back  of  the  tub  and  the  peanuts  giving 
the  "five  tonight  good  people"  gag,  sell-j 
ing  concert  tickets  during  the  run-offs 
in  the  hippodrome  or  Sunday  afternoon 
in  the  ladies'  coach,  section  three,  telling 
the  big  blonde  who  did  the  cloud  swing  in 
the  round  top  rigging  that  of  all  the  girls 
was  the  onliest. 

31 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 


The  gang  was  sitting  on  a  carpet  roll 
iinder  the  big  top  when  the  Candy  Butch- 
jer  came  across  the  track  and  sat  down  on 
[the  ring  bank.  He  was  looking  sad,  but 
his  pants  were  creased  and  the  Montana 
boy  was  shining  like  a  frozen  hunk  of 
Kennebec  water.  He  rolled  himself  a 
cigarette  and  the  gang  being  silent  he 
edged  in  with  this  bunch  of  talk : 

"I'm  bluer  this  evenin'  than  the  paste 
boards  they're  passin'  out  of  the  ticket 
wagon  an'  if  it  wasn't  for  gettin'  the  dock 
at  the  pay  off  I'd  be  up  against  some 
boozery  workin'  the  syphon  like  an  en- 
gine at  a  tenement  fire.  I  ain't  got  no 
llife  in  me  't  all  an'  I  won't  have  until 
we  leaves  the  east  an'  strikes  the  west 
country.  B'lieve  me,  me  boys,  the  east 
lis  all  right  for  business,  for  I  can  pass 
out  the  sour  juice  at  five  a  throw  right 
Ihere  as  well  as  any  where,  but  it's  my- 
self an'  not  the  place.  It  was  too  much  of 
a  feather  bed  las'  season  an'  I  was  fool 
enough  not  to  remember  that  I  had  to 
wake  up.  There  ain't  no  use  talkin',  when- 
ever a  guy  gets  a  good  dream  in  this  here 
life  some  sucker  has  got  to  give  him  the 
alarm  clock  finish  an'  he  wakes  up  with  a 
veil. 

32 


Eed  Wagon  Stories. 

Say,  I  can  call  the  turn  on  the  folks  on 
the  blue  boards  an'  have  'em  all  drinkin' 
lemon  juice  and  shellin'  peanuts  an'  I 
likes  to  do  it,  but  me  heart  ain't  in  the 
work,  this  season  and  that's  no  lithograph 
josh  either.  I'll  tell  you  and  some  of 
youse  may  give  me  the  grin,  but  it's  ten 
to  one  you've  had  the  soft  spot  yourselves, 
so  I  ain't  a-carin'.  Remember  the  Con- 
gress of  Nations  gag  they  was  workin' 
las'  season?  Well  right  back  of  me  lay 
out  there  was  a  lot  of  maidens  that  was 
doin'  the  gypsy  village  and  fakin'  a  lot  of 
beads  and  fortune  tellin'.  There  was  one 
little  fairy  in  the  outfit  that  had  me  dead, 
an'  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you  that  she  had 
me  soft  from  the  start.  She  wasn't  none 
of  these  city  pick  ups  but  a  nice  little  gal 
that  talked  quiet  and  minded  her  own. 
She  didn't  mix  with  the  rest  of  the  push 
an'  we  got  thick  the  first  day  the  canvass 
went  up.  She  tells  me  her  story  confi- 
dential like  an'  I  give  her  me  sympathy, 
for  her  people  was  dead  agin  her  for 
troopin'.  You  see  she  had  'been  working 
in  a   Xew  York  hash  house,  whore  they 

!  Bible  talk  on  the  wall  an'  where  they 
gave  a  -plash  of  beans  and  a  draw  for  a 
dime.     She  gets  tired  an'  a  guy  what  has 

33 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

been  cat  in'  at  the  place  gives  her  a  job 
in  a  boardin'  house  waitin'  on  the  table. 
Here  she  meets  the  man  what  has  the 
Congress  get  up  to  put  on  an'  he  tells  her 
gilt  edge  stories  about  the  circus  business 
and  to  cut  the  talk  down  she  joins  out 
with  the  show.  Well,  say,  she  was  the 
real  thing  to  me.  In  two  months  she  had 
me  stoppin'  the  booze  an  sendin'  money 
home  to  the  folks,  an'  it  was  a  center  shot 
to  get  that  out  of  me.  She  was  alius 
lookin'  for  a  chance  to  do  me  somethin' 
kind  an'  one  day  she  did  a  little  turn  that 
I  wont  forget  long  after  I've  past  the 
old  man'  home. 

We  had  struck  a  rough  run  of  one 
nighters  in  Ohio  and  was  looking  for 
bright  things  across  the  river  in  the  West 
Virginney  townships.  I  had  to  do  the 
German  Emperor  in  the  parade  an'  when 
we  got  back  to  the  lot  I  begins  to  get  me 
stand  ready  for  the  sale.  I'd  packed 
up  careful  on  the  last  stand  and  thought 
it  was  sunny  for  the  next.  But  when  I 
got  me  chest  open  I  finds  the  citric  acid 
jug  missing,  and  the  floaters  I'd  saved  to 
throw  on  the  top  of  the  tub  was  gone  too. 
I  had  a  cussin'  spell  for  a  brief  and  then  I 

34 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

goes  on  a  still  hunt  for  lemons — the  real 
yellow.  But  bless  me  I  couldn't  find  one 
in  the  village  an'  there  was  nothin'  doin' 
with  the  barkeeper  what  had  'em.  Comin' 
back  I  see's  a  dago  doin'  the  shaker  across 
from  the  lot.  He  has  'bout  a  dozen 
lemons  and  I  offers  him  a  good  price,  but 
the  brown  boy  wouldn't  sell  an'  I  was 
sorer  than  a  doped  lion.  I  goes  into  the 
tent  and  meets  Maggie,  that  was  the 
name  of  me  fairy,  an'  she  was  sewiu  sil- 
vers on  her  little  coat.  She  sees  me  sad 
like  an'  I  unloads  me  woes.  The  gal 
didn't  say  much,  but  she  rubs  her  hand 
across  me  frowner  an'  sez,  never  mind, 
John,  I'll  help  ye  out,  an'  goes  'way. 
Say,  youse  may  give  me  the  laugh,  but 
durn  me  if  that  lass  didn't  come  back  in 
'bout  an  hour  carryin'  a  bucket  an'  I 
mos'  had  a  fit  when  I  see's  it  full  of 
gooseberries?     What's  the  game?  sez  I. 

Watch   me?"    sez    Maggie,    "an'    I'll 
keep  you  in  the  business." 

"Durn  me,  boys,  if  that  little  maiden 
didn't  mash  them  berries  to  a  pulp,  strain 
'(.in  through  the  Hoochie  Coochie  gal's 
veil  and  have  the  tub  full  of  sour  juice 
in  seven  minutes.     I  pours  in  the  water, 

35 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

finds  me  floaters  and  puts  them  on  the 
ice  bank  an'  before  the  gang  is  passin' 
once  'roun'  I'm  sellin'  the  juice  as  if 
lemons  was  growin'  on  locust  trees. 
Gooseberries  too  an'  the  yaps  couldn't  git 
enough  of  it.  It  was  better  than  any 
graft  ever  in  the  one  ring  days  an'  the 
little  gal  had  done  it  all.  Ain't  no  use 
tellin'  you  that  I  gives  her  a  new  shirt 
waist  an'  she  gives  me  a  squeeze  that 
makes  me  top  spin  like  a  merry-go-round. 

An'  say  I  fixed  that  dago  that  wouldn't 
give  up.  I  tipped  off  one  of  the  drivers 
and  when  the  first  pole  wagon  leaves  the 
lot  with  the  eight  grays  a  pullin'  it,  the 
leads  shies  into  the  shaker  stand  an'  gives 
it  the  apple  cart  finish. 

But  the  little  fairy  I  lost  her  an'  that's, 
why  I'm  sad.  It  was  this  way.  The  gal 
what  did  the  twistin'  for  the  Turks  had 
the  fever  an'  they  shipped  her  home.  The 
guy  what  had  the  Congress  comes  to 
Maggie,  gives  her  the  jersey  and  the 
gauzy  pants  and  sez  she  must  do  the  part. 
Maggie  kicked  an'  said  she  was  engaged 
for  the  gypsie  village.  The  guy  says  "not 
at  all"  and  Maggie  pulls  off  the  spangles 
an'  goes  home.    An'  say  I  ain't  been  right 

36 


Eed  Wagon  Stories. 

since,  an'  some  days  I  feels  like  playin' 
quits  myself. 

The  gang  looked  at  the  Candy  Butcher 
consolingly,  but  no  one  spoke. 

"The  las'  I  hears  from  her,"  she  said, 
"she  had  gone  back  to  waitin'."  She's 
slingin'  hash  in  a  Brooklyn  Caf,  but  I 
loves  her  just  as  hard. 


37 


THE   BOSS  CANVASMAN'S 
YARN. 

^THE  BOSS  CANVASMAN  was  al- 
%&  ways  sad.  He  never  talked — he 
just  chewed  his  tobacco  and  work- 
ed. Like  the  Candy  Butcher,  he  never 
wore  a  coat,  but  he  cut  the  pink  under- 
wear the  Lemonade  Boy  flashed  when  he 
had  his  sleeves  rolled  up  at  the  tub.  Of 
course,  the  Boss  had  a  coat,  one  that  had 
run  through  a  dozen  seasons,  but  he  al- 
ways kept  it  strapped  down  under  the 
driver's  cushion  on  the  pole  wagon. 
Whenever  he  did  use  it,  the  coat  was  do- 
ing duty  for  a  pillow  when  the  last  sec- 
tion was  late  pulling  out,  and  he  was 
sleeping  on  a  gondola  with  the  wall  poles 
for  a  mat. 

The  Boss  Canvasman's  pants  were  an- 
cient history,  and  his  vest  was  always 
open.  He  wore  one  of  those  motorman 
watches,  with  a  shoestring  for  a  chain. 
He  never  looked  at  the  watch  except  at 
night,  for  when  it  was  daytime  he  could 
pull  off  the  hour  on  the  second  by  the 

38 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

slant  of  the  shadows  across  the  big  "top." 
The  Boss  never  wore  a  collar.  On  Sun- 
day he  would  put  a  gold  button  in  the 
shirt  band,  lean  disconsolately  against  the 
tongue  of  the  pole  wagon,  and  feel  un- 
comfortable because  he  was  dressed  up. 

There  was  no  coin  and  jewel  flash 
about  the  Boss  Canvasman.  But  he  did 
wear  a  rusty  button  in  the  lapel  of  his 
vest — one  of  those  G.  A.  R.  things. 
Across  his  face  there  was  a  long  red  scar, 
and  sometimes  when  he  had  been  drink- 
ing he  talked  about  the  first  Ohio  Cavalry 
— Gettysburg  was  the  answer.  He  feared 
nobody  nor  anything.  He  had  no  friends, 
except  probably  the  Stock  Boss,  and  there 
was  a  tie  there,  because  the  two  had  done 
the  wagon  show  long  years  back  before 
three  rings  were  dreamed  of  and  farmers 
were  living  on  their  own  hog  meat  and 
were  happy.  If  he  ever  did  talk,  it  was 
when  something  went  wrong,  and  then 
his  line  of  words  were  unfit  for  publica- 
tion— even  in  a  Chicago  weekly. 

It    looked    like    a    squall    just    as    the 

matinee  was  breaking,  and  the  boys  at  the 

cages  were  hurrying  the  people  along  to 

the  tent   clear  before  the  water  fell. 

The  Boss  Canvasman  was  hard  at  it  get- 

39 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

ling-  the  guys  tight  and  throwing  in  cin- 
ders around  the  big  poles,  where  the  dirt 
was  soft.  He  was  taking  no  chances  on 
a  blow.  He  had  been  mixed  up  in  sev- 
eral of  those  wind  things  down  in  Texas, 
where  a  cyclone  struck  the  lot,  and  all 
that  was  left  when  the  sun  got  back  was 
the  ticket  wagon  and  the  elephants  that 
were  chained  to  earth.  He  knew  his 
game. 

After  the  usual  beef  stew  and  the 
splash  of  beans  had  been  put  away  with 
a  cup  of  black  in  the  meal  tent,  the  gang 
gathered  about  the  rink  bank  for  a  little 
rest.  The  Sawdust  Spreader  and  the 
Gasoline  Man  were  talking  scandal,  as 
usual.  This  time  it  was  the  Snake 
Charmer,  who  mixed  it  too  strong  with 
the  bottles  on  the  last  stand,  lost  the  keys 
to  her  snake-box  and  two  boas  and  a 
black  boy  starved  to  death  before  the 
feeders  could  get  the  rabbits  under  the 
fangs. 

The  gang  sat  down  in  silence  until  the 
Concert  Manager  cut  in  with  some 
weather  talk.  It  looked  stormy,  and  as  it 
was  the  last  night  of  the  stand  and  a  long 
haul  to  the  cars,  everybody  was  feeling  a 
little  sore.     With  a  storm  coming  up,  the 

40 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

tent  to  watch,  and  then  the  haul  and  an 
eight-hour  jump  with  a  hustle  for  the 
march  in  spangles  down  the  highway  the 
next  morning.  It  had  everybody  grouchy 
and  thinking  about  hall  shows  with  a  roof 
and  a  stove. 

"Youse  is  doing  a  lot  of  guff  about  a 
rain,"  cut  in  the  Side  Show  Spieler,  as 
he  polished  up  his  shiny  brim  on  the  cor- 
ner of  the  leaping  tick,  "but  youse  kin 
stay  inside  when  its  droppin',  but  for  me 
— the  open  and  still  the  same  old  gab  for 
the  dimes." 

The  Boss  Canvasman  came  up  along 
the  ring  bank,  and  without  noticing  the 
crowd  on  the  sawdust  began  to  jamb 
down  the  cinders  around  the  net-pole 
with  the  heel  of  his  boot.  From  the  dis- 
tance came  a  low  rumble  of  thunder. 
The  gang  looked  at  each  other.  Every- 
body in  the  outfit  feared  a  storm ;  not  so 
much  for  the  storm  itself,  but  for  the 
effect  it  had  on  the  Boss  Canvasman.  He 
never  talked,  but  when  the  basses  under 
the  hills  were  growling  and  the  light- 
ning was  doing  a  fancy  jig  against  the 
blue,  he  let  loose  a  vocabulary  that  would 
put  a  canalboat  captain  to  the  blush  of 
shame    and    send    a    sea-soaked    old    jib 

41 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

reefer  to  flight  as  a  down  and  out  cusser 
beyond  appeal,  cards  torn  up,  tables 
turned  over  and  police  at  the  door,  lie 
used  the  same  two-cm  words,  but  the  way 
they  hit  the  air  would  have  made  holes 
in  a  battleship. 

The  broadcloth  boys,  who  came  over 
in  the  sailing  ships  and  scared  the  Indians 
into  religion  by  telling  them  how  warm 
it  was  in  perdition,  couldn't  touch  the 
Boss  Canvassman  for  a  scare  when  he  got 
on  the  same  topic.  He  had  a  way  of  say- 
ing "hell !"  that  made  you  want  to  turn 
in  a  fire  alarm  just  for  personal  comfort. 

Presently  he  came  across  to  the  gang, 
and  to  the  surprise  of  all  the  rink-bank 
squatters  loosened  up. 

"Talkin'  'bout  workin'  in  the  rain,  is 
you?"  he  said,  with  a  sneer,  and  a  cross- 
hook  glance  at  the  Side  Show  Spieler. 
"You've  got  no  kick.  Say,  you'll  have 
your  head  on  some  Mamie's  shoulder  in 
the  last  day  coach,  up  an'  away,  while'  me 
an'  my  gang  is  still  workin'  on  this  lot 
gittin'  this  round  top  on  the  wagon  with- 
out streakin'  her  wid  mud." 

There  was  not  a  reply,  for  the  boys 
knew  he  was  right.  The  Side  Show 
Spieler  hung  around  a  bit,  and,  with  a 

42 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

t 

typhoid  smile,  remarked  that  he  guessed 
he'd  bow  hisself  out,  and  more  than  that, 
he  did. 

"Speakin'  about  storms,"  said  the  Boss 
Canvasman,  as  he  tied  a  long,  running 
knot  in  the  guy  that  held  the  triple  bars, 
"I  guess  you  fellows  'ceptin'  some  of  the 
old  boys,  dunno  what  it  is  for  a  rain  an' 
a  blow.  I  dun  bin  circusin'  it  for  forty 
year,  and,  say,  I've  met  some  blows  an' 
lightnin'  that  no  sailor  chap  ain't  hit,  I 
don't  care  how  often  he's  bin  'round  the 
Horn." 

You  couldn't  have  looked  into  the  face 
of  that  old  fellow  without  believing  every 
v.  i  >rd.  He  was  burned  brown  by  every 
clime,  creased  and  seamed  by  every  frost, 
and  parched  and  dryed  by  every  wind,  and 
his  hands  for  knots  and  gnarls  had  an  old 
oak  twice  around  the  track  and  then  past 
the  judges  and  turf  writers,  all  off  and 
back  to  the  street  cars. 

y,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  fellers  sum- 
thin',"  said  the  Boss,  as  he  sat  down  and 
began  twisting  together  a  piece  of  icpe 
that  was  getting  to  look  like  a  lion's  tail. 
The  gang  was  startled,  for  in  the  memory 

none  there  never  lodged  the  fact  that 
the  Boss  Canvasman  had  bei  n  to  sit 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

down  as  long  as  the  pole  was  standing. 
But  he  did,  and  what's  more,  he  reeled  off 
a  yarn. 

"Jes,  'fore  the  war  broke  out,"  he  said, 
"I  had  enlisted  in  the  First  Ohio,  I  was 
workin'  down  the  Valley  of  Virginia  wid 
a  little  wagon  show  doin'  the  same  kind 
of  work  I'se  doin'  now,  'cept  it  was  noth- 
in'  but  play  to  this.  Funny,  too,  for  six 
months  afore  I  was  down  that  same  valley 
wid  the  cavalry  cuttin'  into  them  rebs,  an' 
I  don't  mind  telling  you  they  was  a  cut- 
tin'  us,  too,  wid  Mosby  in  the  woods  an' 
'Stonewall'  Jackson,  God  knows  where. 

"Well,  we  had  been  doin'  a  day  an'  a 
night  stand  in  one  of  the  little  towns,  an' 
had  a  fourteen  mile  haul  down  the  pike 
for  the  next.  We  was  hopin'  for  a  moon, 
not  so  much  to  strike  by,  but  for  the  drive, 
for  the  people  hadn't  got  the  roads  to 
right,  an'  they  was  still  full  of  artillery 
ruts  an'  wagon  train  wrecks.  But  we 
pulled  off  the  show,  an'  before  the  last 
bareback  was  on  I  has  the  menagerie  can- 
vas on  the  wagons,  all  stakes  up  and  the 
dens  down  the  road,  with  the  boys  leadin' 
the  elephants  and  the  two  camels  over  the 
hills.  It  had  been  squally  like,  all  night, 
but  I  had  the  round  top  tightened  up  so 

44 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

hard  that  youse  could  have  walked  the 
ropes  an'  there  was  no  danger. 

"But  jes'  as  Dutch  Andy  was  playin' 
his  last  piece  there  was  a  oust  of  wind  an' 
a  flash  of  lightnin',  an'  she  began  to  come 
down  in  solid  sheets.  We  gets  the  people 
out  and  gets  to  work  on  the  tent  wall. 
This  peels  off"  in  a  jiffy,  an'  the  rain  lets 
up.  Then  down  wid  the  big  top  an'  on 
the  wagon.  But  sumthin'  catches  in  the 
riggin'  on  the  main  pole,  an'  I  sees  I  has 
to  send  me  helper  up  on  a  climb  to  get  her 
clear.  Everything  was  gone. but  the  pole 
wagon  and  a  few  side  show  things,  an' 
the  'bus  we  bosses  rode  in,  with  four 
grays  pullin'  it.  Afore  I  sends  my  helper, 
Jim.  a  line  boy.  what  had  been  a  sailor, 
up  the  pole,  I  send  four  men  out  to  hold 
her  up  by  hangin'  on  the  long  rope  to  the 
far  stake.  Jim  skins  up  to  the  top  an'  gits 
her  loose,  but  before  he  kin  git  down  the 
gang  holdin'  the  long  guy  loses  their  holt, 
an'  the  pole  falls. 

"Well,  we  picks  up  Jim.  an'  he  is  pretty 
bad.     Ribs  in.  an'  a  lot  of  cuts.     We  tried 

ry  house  an  am',  but  no  doctor,  though 

there  was  one  good  <>ld  lady  who  gave  US 

ie  arnicy  and  strips  of  bandage  she 

he'd   kept   to  use  on   her   husband 

45 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

when  he  got  shot  up  in  the  Saturday  night 
lights  'bout  the  tavern.  So  we  piles  poor 
Jim  into  the  "bus,  and  drives  off  easy, 
while  we  walks  along  quiet  like  an'  sore. 
Poor  Jim,  he  jes'  groans  an'  talks  'bout 
doin'  his  best,  an  I  keeps  givin'  him 
liquor  to  make  him  forget  it. 

"But  it  was  all  over  for  Jim,  an'  we 
jes  pullin'  out  of  a  clump  of  woods  down 
by  a  river  when  we  sees  he's  dead.  There 
was  no  use  carryin'  his  body  long,  an'  he 
didn't  have  no  people  to  ship  it  to,  so  we 
decided  to  give  him  a  decent  burial.  Two 
of  the  stakemen  digs  the  place,  an'  we 
lays  poor  Jim  away  under  a  willow  tree. 
Jes'  then  one  of  the  boys  speaks  up  an' 
sez: 

"  'Say,  boys,  it  don't  seem  right  to  plant 
Jim  without  sayin'  sumthin'. 

"But  there  wasn't  a  mother's  son  in 
the  crowd  knew  what  to  say,  though  they 
is  all  on  to  what  the  fellow  means.  We 
waits  awhile  an'  I  sez : 

"  'Well,  there  might  be  a  little  singin'.' 

"An'  I  wishes  that  I  had  the  principal 
clown  there,  for  he  was  good  on  sad 
songs,  'specially  if  he'd  been  boozin'  a 
little. 

46 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"  'flight  git  the  band,'  sez  one  of  the 
boys. 

"  'But  the  band  is  way  ahead.'  We  is 
all  studyin'  like,  when  over  the  hills  comes 
the  whistling  wagon. 

"  'Here  is  the  calliope,'  sez  one  of  the 
stakemen. 

"So  we  stops  it.  and  'Reddy'  Cave- 
naugh,  who  played  the  whistles,  besides 
doublin'  for  Peter  the  Great  in  the  streer 
parade,  sez  he  has  enough  steam  on  to 
play  a  little.  We  backs  the  calliope  around, 
an'  three  of  the  boys  holds  the  hosses. 
Then  Redely  played  soft  like,  jes'  as  soft 
as  he  could,  on  the  whistles,  an'  we  all 
lifts  our  hats." 

"What  did  he  play?"  asked  the  Candy 
Butcher,  as  he  wiped  away  a  tear  with 
his  red  curt. 

"Well,"  said  the  Boss  Canvasman,  "he 
only  knowed  two  tunes,  'When  Johnny 
Comes  Marchin'  Home'  and  'The  Blue 
Danube,'  but  we  planted  Jim  to  both." 


47 


THE  SIDE  SHOW  SPIELER 
SPEAKS. 

'TT'HE  SIDE  SHOW  SPIELER  was 
%&  a  tall  dark  man  with  a  sad  face. 
He  was  clean  shaven,  wore  his 
hair  slightly  long  and  looked  like  William 
Jennings  Bryan,  after  the  vote  was  in  and 
counted  and  the  telegraph  operators  had 
gone  home.  He  had  a  deep  baritone 
voice  and  a  vocabulary  that  was  always 
It.  The  Spieler  carried  more  education 
than  any  man  on  the  pay-roll  and  it  was 
said  that  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  out- 
fit that  could  read  the  Latin  names  on  the 
animal  cages.  It  was  generally  supposed 
that  he  was  one  of  the  better  days'  boys, 
but  he  never  told  the  story  of  his  past  life 
to  any  of  the  gang. 

It  had  started  to  rain  just  after  the 
afternoon  performance,  and  as  it  was  the 
night  to  strike  and  haul,  the  six  squatters 
on  the  ring  bank  were  silent  and  sore. 
The  Spieler  came  in  from  the  menagerie 

48 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

and  joined  the  layout.  He  never  sat 
down,  so  he  stood  for  a  while  in  front  of 
the  others.  No  one  spoke  and  he  let  a 
little  conversation  hit  the  air. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  fellows? 
Sore  'cause  it  is  raining !  Don't  see  why, 
you  all  are  under  cover.  I've  got  to  stand 
out  there  in  front  of  the  tent  and  talk  for 
dimes." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Boss  Canvasman,  "and 
I've  got  this  tent  to  roll  up  an'  load. 

"Well  he  happy,  be  happy,"  said  the 
Spieler.  Then  after  a  pause.  "Say,  you 
fellows  can  help  me  out  a  little.  The  Boss 
gives  me  a  talk  last  night,  and  says  while 
the  spiel  for  the  little  show  is  all  right  and 
good  he  wants  a  new  one  for  the  big 
stands  we  strikes  next  week.  I've  been 
digging  up  the  old  talk  I  used  to  tear  off 
on  the  Midway  at  the  Chicago  Show  and 
I've  about  studied  her  out,  if  youse  don't 
care  I'll  just  unroll  here  an'  see  if  its  the 
proper  josh." 

There  was  no  objection,  so  the  Spieler 

mounts  <>nc  of  the  red  painted  stools,  the 

object  holders  stand  oil  for  the  little  lady 

to  jump  the  banners.     Then  he  serves  his 

el : 

40 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"And  now  good  people  if  you  will 
kindly  give  me  your  attention  for  a  few 
moments  I  will  explain  to  you  the  great 
o  uigress  of  freaks,  oddities  of  mother  na- 
ture and  strange  and  curious  collection  of 
wonders  shown  in  the  tent.  Remember 
you  have  plenty  of  time,  the  Big  Show 
does  not  commence  for  fully  harf  an  hour. 
Surely  you  will  not  leave  the  lot  until  you 
have  seen  all — all  good  people — all  pro- 
vided for  you  in  this  monster  entertain- 
ment, this  caravan  of  canvas  covered 
world  sought  wonders.  -  Come  a  little 
closer.  Please.  Thank  you.  First,  let  me 
call  your  attention  to  a  remarkable  group 
of  reindeer.  We  have  not  one — three — 
five — or  six  of  these  specimens  of  the 
animal  kingdom,  but  a  whole  herd 
of  them — a  herd  of  them — a  herd 
of  reindeer  from  the  land  of  the 
midnight  sun,  where  there  is  but  one 
night,  one  day — reindeers,  my  friends, 
from  the  icy  mountains  of  far  away  Nor- 
way the  greatest  group  ever  exhibited  in 
any  colossal  enterprise  that  has  ever  been 
organized  by  mortal  man. 

"Next  you  will  find  the  ostrich  farm. 
This  strange  bird  that  furnishes  plumage 
for   me   ladies'   bonnet,    and   that   comes 

50 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

from  the  sunny  sands  of  Africa.  And  re- 
member the  cool  of  the  evening  is  the  best 
time  to  see  the  ostriches,  for  it  is  then  you 
may  notice  their  marked  pe-cu-li-ar-i-ties. 
Listen,  good  people,  reindeer  and  os- 
triches— reindeer  from  the  frozen  north 
— ostriches  from  torrid  Africa — speci- 
mens from  each  zone,  the  most  astound- 
ing representation  of  nature's  wonderland 
ever  shown.  Reindeer  and  ostriches — as 
the  poet  says : 

"From   Greenland's   icy  mountains 
From  Afric's  coral  strand 
Where  them  crystal  waters 
Run  down  the  heathen  land. 

''And  all  for  a  dime,  ten  cents,  will  you 
hesitate?  but  wait,  good  people,  that  is 
not  all.  The  wonder  of  wonders  is  yet 
to  come — Bobo — he  eats  'em  alive,  he 
eats  'em  alive.  You  must  see  Bobo.  This 
strange  and  curious  specimen  of  human- 
ity who  exists  upon  poisonous  reptiles, 
captured  in  the  jungles  of  the  Tasmanian 
blue  gum  tree  and  brought  to  civilized 
America,  he  still  lives  on  snakes — Bob", 
the  snake  cater — Bobo,  he  eats  'em  alive, 
he  eats  'em  alive. 

51 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"One  moment,  good  people,  one  moment 
— this  is  not  all.  Listen — Wild  Rose — 
the  half  girl  and  half  dog.  This  remark- 
able freak  of  nature  that  has  puzzled  the 
scientists  of  two  continents.  Queen 
Mary,  the  largest  fat  woman  ever  shown 
under  canvas  or  in  hall  of  curios,  the 
marvelous  Samson,  the  giant  of  today, 
who  bears  upon  his  breast  great  rocks  to 
be  broken  with  a  sledge,  and  last  but  not 
least — Professor  Corello  and  his  troupe 
of  performing  roaches,  the  only  attempt 
ever  made  to  develop  the  hitherto  un- 
known powers  of  these  insects.  The 
greatest,  most  interesting  and  educating 
avalanche  of  remarkable  freaks  and 
strange  and  curious  people  ever  shown. 
And  all  for  a  dime,  two  nickels,  good 
people — a  dime,  but  a  dime.  The  per- 
formance is  about  to  begin — one  dime — 
the  sight  of  an  invested  fortune,  the 
greatest  stroke  of  genius  of  the  modern 
showman — yours  for  a  dime." 

The  Spieler  took  a  long  breath  and 
then  looked  at  his  audience. 

"How's  that,"  he  asked,  "how's  that 
for  a  furnace  talk?" 

"It's  all  right,  Cap,"  said  the  Concert 
Manager;  "it'll  bring  'em." 

52 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Say,"  said  the  Boss  Canvasman,  "how 
do  you  keep  that  voice  of  yours  shout  in' 
all  the  time?" 

"Boozin,  boozin'  up,"  said  the  Spieler, 
"boozin'  up." 


53 


THE  BAND  MASTER'S  SOLO. 

^"HE  leader  of  the  Big  Show's  band 
^^  wasn't  much  on  technique,  but  if 
there  were  any  notes  coming  to  an 
E-flat  cornet  that  he  had  overlooked 
something  was  wrong  with  the  whole 
theory  of  music. 

The  way  he  could  blow  melody  out  of 
that  piece  of  polished  brass  was  some- 
thing that  the  rest  of  the  outfit  never  un- 
derstood. He  was  a  little  fellow  with  a 
very  small  moustache  that  ran  largely  to 
waxed  ends.  He  always  wore  a  blue  uni- 
form and  a  cap,  and  he  looked  like  a  mes- 
senger boy.  The  twenty-eight  "star  solo- 
ists" that  he  directed  possessed  more 
wind  than  a  Western  cyclone  and  an  East- 
ern typhoon  blown  into  one,  for  twice  a 
day  they  played  from  one-thirty  until  the 
last  race  in  the  hippodrome  was  off,  and 
this  was  no  five  finger  exercise. 

The  gang  was  rather  talkative  when 
the  leader  came  across  from  the  band 
st,  md,  so  he  sat  down  on  the  corner  of  the 

54 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

elevated  stage  and  hummed  to  himself. 
Presently  the  chorus  cut  out  and  he  soloed 
thusly : 

''I  ain't  no  Sousa,  boys,  an'  there  ain't 
no  brass  hangin5  to  my  pea  jacket,  but 
say,  if  there's  any  leader  that  can  get 
more  noise  out  of  them  28  than  I  can,  I'll 
eat  every  bit  of  sawdust  under  the  tent  an' 
say  thankee  when  I'm  done." 

Xobody  disputed  this  distinction  and 
the  leader  continued  to  cadenza : 

"It  ain't  no  snap  tossin'  off  melody  for 
a  show  like  this.  v  When  I'm  out  with  the 
minstrels  in  the  winter  the  game's  easy, 
but  the  snap  is  nothin'  but  blow,  an' 
you've  got  a  lot  of  crazy  ones  in  the  ring 
here  to  take  cues  from.  An'  talkin'  about 
them  28  of  mine,  there  ain't  no  show  band 
in  the  country  that  can  beat  'em 
switchin'." 

"Say,  you  know  the  night  we  opened  in 
the  Garden?  Well,  we  was  playiiv  'The 
Holy  City'  for  the  guy  in  spangles  what 
mils  hissef  up  the  spiral.  The  music  plot 
was  'Holy  City'  to  the  top,  a  little  of  the 
shiver  while  he  was  makin'  the  last  turn, 
then  a  lot  of  brass  an'  bing-bing  when 
he  makes  the  rush  to  the  ring.  Well,  the 
boys  were  playin'  the  'Holy  City'  fine  and 

55 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

daisy  when  the  equestrian  director  comes 
across  the  track  an'  whispers: 

"  'Here's  Dewey  comin'  up  by  the  re- 
served section.' 

"So  I  knows  he  wants  somethin'  ap- 
propriate, an'  I  gives  the  signal  for  'Here 
Comes  a  Sailor.'  Well,  them  twenty - 
eight  switches  like  a  limited  on  a  clear 
track  an'  the  crowd  on  the  boards  goes 
wild.  But  the  guy  in  the  tin  ball,  he's 
been  kneelin'  it  up  to  'The  Holy  City,'  an' 
when  the  music  changes  to  swift  he  can't 
work  his  knees  fas'  enough  an'  he  lets 
go  an'  nearly  breaks  his  back.  He  calls 
me  a  Dutch  somethin',  I  didn't  jes'  catch, 
an'  it  costs  him  25  fine  off  the  pay  sheet. 

"An'  speakin'  about  noise,  fifteen  year 
ago  I  leaves  home,  where  I  was  world n' 
in  a  harness  factory  and  leadin'  the  Sil- 
ver Cornet  Band  in  the  evenin',  an'  goes 
on  tie  road  with  a  medicine  show.  We 
has  one  of  them  long-haired  boys  doin' 
the  fake  dentist  an'  pullin'  teeth  without 
pain  while  his  wife  does  the  female  doc- 
tor an'  sells  pills.  We  six  brass  has  to 
play  when  Doc  an'  his  wife  is  workin',  an' 
in  the  mornin'  go  back  of  the  stage  an' 
roll  pills  an'  put  'em  in  fancy  boxes  what 
Doc  sells  with  the  packages  of  Australian 

56 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

gold  pens,  the  little  joker  transparent 
cards  an'  the  South  American  Cyroola 
Corn  Cure  what  he  gives  away  to  each 
an"  every  purchaser  of  Dr.  Sorino's  Death 
Delayin'  Pellets. 

"Well,  the  game  was  to  git  some  coon 
in  the  crowd  to  come  up  on  the  stage  an' 
have  his  tooth  pulled  for  nothin'  an'  with- 
out pain.    Doc  gets  the  moke  in  the  chair 
an'  makes  his  spiel  'bout  the  great  pain 
killer  he  has  an'  says  it  won't  hurt  the 
boy  on   the   velvet.      The  band   was   all 
brass  except  Cooney  Watson,  who  was 
playin'  a  kettle  drum  an'  workin'  the  bass 
and  cymbals  with  a  pedal.     While  Doc 
was  gittin'  the  forceps  on  the  tooth  we 
played  soft  an'  quiet  like  an'  as  soon  as 
he  gives  the  jerk  we  lets  loose  with   a 
march    an'    you   can't   hear   nigger   man 
holler  to  save  your  life.    It  was  great,  an' 
it    worked    the    countries    all    the    times. 
Cooney  would  make  you  think  there  was 
a  thunder  storm  comin'  up  the  way  he 
beat  them  drums. 

"But  poor  Cooney.  Doc  picks  up  six 
Indians  to  make  the  show  stronger  an'  in- 
troduce his  famous  Indian  bitters.  The 
red  boys  had  a  new  moon  an'  asks  Cooney 
to  loan  'em  the  drum  to  do  the  Tom  Tom. 

57 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

Cooney  says  no  an'  the  Big  Chief  gets 
good  an'  sore,  but  says  nothin'.  The  next 
day  we  has  a  parade  an'  we  brass  is  on 
top  of  a  wagon  with  Doc's  ads.  painted  on 
the  side.  The  Indians  is  ridin'  along  be- 
hind us.  Well,  say.  we  had  hardly  hit 
the  main  street  when  the  Indian  what  was 
sore  on  the  drummer  throws  his  lariat 
and  lassos  poor  Cooney  off  the  wagon, 
drums  an'  all,  into  the  middle  of  a  bunch 
of  cows  what  was  gettin'  weighed.  He 
was  pretty  bad,  so  we  shipped  him  home." 

"That  ain't  Cooney  beatin'  the  drum 
with  us,  is  it?"  asks  the  Boss  Canvasman 
as  he  tied  a  long  running  knot  in  the  guy 
rope  to  the  net  under  the  swings  for  the 
brother  act. 

"No  indeed,"  says  the  Leader,  "Cooney 
never  joins  out  again.  The  las'  I  seen  of 
him  he  was  workin'  at  his  trade  out  in 
Indianny — he  was  paintin'  the  roof  of  the 
courthouse  when  we  had  the  parade." 


58 


The  Candy  Butcher 

Talks  about  a  Love  Affair  and 

His  Encounter  with  the 

Buckwheat  Man. 

'JT'HE  CANDY  BUTCHER  of  the 
^^  Big  Show  looked  like  a  cut-out  in 
a  Sunday  supplement.  He  was 
the  best  dressed  man  in  the  outfit,  and  no 
matter  what  he  was  doing  and  where  he 
was  doing  it  he  always  looked  fixed  up, 
and  he  felt  it. 

His  pants  were  always  creased  whether 
the  show  was  doing  a  run  in  the  large 
city  or  playing  the  one-nighters  on  a  sin- 
gle-track jerk-water  beyond  the  Wabash. 
He  never  wore  his  coat  when  working, 
and  his  loud  linen  would  have  stopped  a 
limited  with  one  flash  from  the  tower. 
He  was  there  with  the  pink  underwear, 
and  his  stockings  had  more  kinds  of  color 
in  them  than  the  side  of  the  band  wagon 
when  the  season  was  new.  The  Candy 
Butcher  was  always  dressed,  and  when  he 
got  behind  the  counter  to  pull  off  the 
"Five    tonight,    good    people!"    gag   he 

59 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

would  have  made  the  window  of  an  East 
Side  gents'  furnishing  store  drop  the  cur- 
tain. The  Candy  Butcher  didn't  mix  in 
much  with  the  men  in  the  outfit.  He  had  a 
chemical  moustache  that  he  zephyred 
with  a  velvet  voice,  and  he  was  always 
aces  with  the  ladies.  When  Section  One 
was  pulling  out  for  a  long  Sunday  jump, 
be  sure  of  Him  for  the  day  coach  with 
the  girls.  He  was  good  at  that,  and, 
while  he  didn't  always  make  a  landing, 
he  managed  generally  to  get  his  bowline 
fast  to  the  pier  before  the  current  caught 
him. 

He  always  wore  his  coat  in  the  meal 
tent,  but  he  took  it  off  right  after  supper 
and  carried  it  on  his  arm.  The  make-up 
didn't  miss  the  ulster  much,  for  he  had  on 
a  vest  that  was  three  strikes  and  out  for 
rainbow  colors  —  one  of  those  rum 
omelette  tinted  things  that  a  Philadelphia 
button  buyer  puts  on  for  Saturday  night 
when  he's  waiting  at  the  stage  door  for 
some  spotlight  Sadie.  He  was  there  with 
the  cheap  tailors,  all  right. 

The  squatters  on  the  ring  bank  were 
just  settling  for  the  afternoon  gab  while 
the  equestrian  director,  sore  because  he 
couldn't  get  away  to  keep  a  date,  was  re- 

60 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

arranging  the  horse  acts  with  a  piece  of  a 
pencil  on  the  back  of  the  night's  card. 
The  Candy  Butcher  came  through  a 
crevice  in  the  tent  and  stopped  to  talk  to 
the  Saw  Dust  Spreader,  who  was  stand- 
ing behind  the  wardrobe  basket  pulling 
on  his  plush  pants. 

"What  you  dressin'  for?"  said  the 
Candy  Butcher. 

"Oh,  they're  gettin'  cheap,"  said  the 
Saw  Dust  Spreader.  "I've  got  to  double 
for  an  object  holder,  an'  I'm  up  for  the 
leaps  right  after  the  entree." 

"What  do  you  care,"  said  the  Candy 
Butcher,  "long  as  peppermint  is  striped?" 

Then  he  laughed  at  his  own  little  trade 
journal  joke.  He  was  full  of  those.  He 
was  always  reading  song  books  and  joke 
budgets  when  waiting  to  get  up  on  the 
blue  boards  to  sell  tickets  for  the  concert 
after  the  show.  He  came  across  the  track 
and  joined  the  gang. 

"Gee !"  said  the  Side  Show  Spieler, 
who  was  always  good  on  the  opening  line. 
"youse  dressed  up  for  fair  tonight !  Looks 
like  youse  goin'  to  a  birthday  party.*" 

"Not  for  me,"  replied  the  Candy 
Butcher,  as  he  put  another  piece  of  gum 
under  the  mustache.    "Cut  out  the  parties 

61 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

C 
for  Willie  in  the  Summer  an'  after  this 
in  the  winter  no  more  front  parlor  talks 
for  me  after  ma  is  in  bed  an'  the  old  man 
is  out  in  the  cold  switchin'  down  in  the 
railroad  yard." 

"Sore  again,''  .said  the  Concert  Mana- 
ger; "you've  alw  r  §  got  your  kick  comin' 
on  sumthinV 

"Well,  I  wouHn't,"  said  the  Candy 
Butcher,  "but  you        iws  is  alius  runnin' 


">  any  girl  talk.  Say, 
this  outfit,  take  it 
do  the  look  killin' 
ne  like  the  boy  what 
•eback — the  popcorn 
-well,  no  more  for 


me  in  when  it  coircs 

I  ain't  the  masher 

from  me.     If  I 

an'  have  'em  runn 

does  the  principal 

and  the  soft  drii 

Jamesie." 

The  gang  sort  of  wrarmed  up  to  this 

talk,  so  he  let  her    >ut  another  notch  and 

began. 

"Say,"  he  continued,  "youse  fellows  is 

alius    lookin'    for    siimthin'    soft.      Well, 

say,  I've  got  a  ga     ■.  for  this  season  that 

more  kicks  over  the 

.e.     I've  got  'em  all 

;uice  game.    Say,  you 

:t  it's  a  losin'  srame 


will  kill   'em.     No 
lemonade  tub  for 
skinned  on  the  sou. 
may  not  know  it, 


when  you'r  runnin'  to  one-nighters  and 
sellin'  lemon  juice. 


looks  good  to  see 


CS 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

me  hollerin'  over  the  chunk  of  ice  an' 
takin'  in  the  half  dimes  while  I'm  passin' 
out  the  cold  drink  an'  the  peanuts;  but, 
say,  you  never  thought  how  many  of 
them  nicks  it  takes  to  buy  a  box  of  lem- 
ons. All  right,  all  right  in  the  city,  bo', 
for  the  yellow  boys,  but  -  :hen  you  are  run 
out  in  the  meadows  it'    iiff'rent,  diff'rent. 

"So,  says  I,  during  the  winter  when 
I'm  managin'  me  p^r^ty  arcade  wid  the 
talkin'  machines,  sa  11  get  up  a  scheme 
that  will  make  the  efttons  back  to  the 
shady  groves  for  )  no  more  fore  me. 
An',  say,  I  gits  me  Jtank  on  it  and  I 

invents  sumthin'.  S  you'll  laugh,  but 
I  pulled  it  off  this  ernoon,  an',  say, 
they  all  fell  for  once. 

"What  is  it,  Bil! 3"  asked  the  Old 
Grafter,  always  ready  for  a  new  shot  at 
the  purse. 

"  'What  is  it?'  W  I,  say!  You  know 
how  them  guys  is  strin'gin'  you  about  fake 
lemonade,  'cause  you  ain't  got  no  yellow 
slices  floatin'  on  the  tc  of  the  tub.  Well, 
what  is  you  goin'  to  do  when  lemons  is 
45  per,  an'  even  the  i  rkeeps  is  usin'  the 
acid  for  the  sour.  'V  bll,  me,  I  just  has 
a  dozen  lemon  slices  I  de  out  of  celluloid, 
an',  say,  Bill,  you  cai't  tell  'em  from  the 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

real,  'pon  my  word,  boy,  when  they  is 
iloatin'  aroun'  in  the  tub  after  I  has 
poured  in  me  water,  me  citric  acid  and 
me  sugar.  Why.  say,  it  looks  like  one  of 
them  things  at  a  Fresh  Air  give-out, 
where  everything  is  dun  on  the  level, 
'cause  the  reporters  is  watchin'.  I  jes' 
works  me  celluloid  slices  on  the  stan',  an' 
when  biz  is  dun  wipes  'em  off,  puts  'em 
in  the  box,  an'  theyse  jes'  as  good  as  new, 
an'  there's  more  comin'  to  the  Dime  Sav- 
in' for  Will,  an'  that's  no  song  book  wit." 

The  crowd  eyed  him  in  silence  with 
that  awe  that  meets  a  pack  of  under- 
graduates when  they  first  gaze  upon  the 
man  who  discovered  some  new  chemical 
analysis  they  never  expect  to  understand. 

The  Saw  Dust  Spreader  joined  the 
crowd  just  then  looking  like  a  cheap  lead- 
ing man  in  a  ten  and  twenty  "Carmen," 
with  the  red  pants  and  the  little  coat.  It 
was  he  for  gossip,  so  he  broke  in. 

"Yes,  you're  pretty  good,"  he  said  to 
the  Candy  Butcher,  remembering  the 
laugh  he  got  when  he  came  across  the  tan 
bark.  "But,  say,  where  was  you  all  last 
week?  No  lyin'  now,  Willie,  'cause  I'm 
on,  dead  on." 

04 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Well,  I  dunno  that  it's  any  secret," 
said  the  Candy  Butcher.  "I  dun  me  duty 
an'  I  suffered  for  it." 

The  gang  looked  like  a  listening  party, 
so  he  began  to  reel :  5 

"Say^  it's  pretty  tough  when  a  fellow 
starts  out  to  do  the  right  thing  by  a  little 
lady  and  gets  the  flag.  It  jes'  shows  that 
whenever  you  gits  to  dreamin'  good 
somebody  is  goin'  to  give  you  an  alarm, 
clock  finish  an'  let  you  wake  up  with  a 
shriek.  Remember  two  seasons  ago,  when 
we  was  workin'  the  Congress  of  Na- 
tions gag  in  the  manager's  tent?  Well, 
me  it  is  who  meets  a  little  lady  who  is  do- 
in'  the  bead  stitchin'  in  the  gypsy  village. 
She's  a  pretty  little  thing  an'  quietlike. 
Well,  she  seems  lonesome  like  an'  one 
wet  night  I  carries  her  across  the  lot  when 
the  mud  is  up  to  your  knees.  She  seems 
to  like  it  an'  we  has  a  long  talk  in  the  car. 

"It  seems  that  she  used  to  work  in  a 
bean  place  where  she  is  called  Number 
8.  I  thinks  that  is  funny,  so  I  alius  calls 
her  Number  8. 

"Seems  like  her  folks  was  sore  on  her 
for  troopin',  an'  she  comes  to  me  for  sym- 
pathy. Well,  she  had  me  stoppin'  the 
booze  before  we  was  two  weeks  out,  an'  I 

65 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

was  gettin'  quiet  in  me  gab  and  cuttin' 
down  on  the  swear  talk.  She  tells  me  the 
way  she  gets  into  the  circus  is  that  a  big 
guy  what  was  engagin'  people  for  the 
Congress  used  to  eat  his  butter  cakes  at 
her  table,  an'  he  keeps  on  tellin'  her  what 
a  fine  life  it  is  to  be  an  actress,  an',  as  he 
has  been  readin'  about  it  in  books,  she 
throw's  up  the  waitin'  job  and  joins  out. 
The  big  guy  gets  half  of  her  first  week  for 
the  gettin'  her  the  job. 

"But  it  seems  that  when  Number  8 
pulls  out  of  the  bean  place  that  she  breaks 
the  heart  of  the  guy  with  the  white  cap 
that  cooks  the  buckwheats  in  the  window. 
He's  been  sw-eet  on  her  from  the  first  day 
she  hollered  the  hot  cakes  an'  he  pulls  'em 
off"  the  griddle  an'  looks  into  her  eyes. 
Well,  this  guy  takes  a  solemn  oath  that 
he'll  kill  the  bloke  that  makes  his  Mamie 
give  up  waitin'  an'  go  troopin'.  He  never 
gets  next  to  the  big  jay  what  gave  her  the 
job,  but  when  he  was  doin'  the  big  city 
he  sees  me  chasm'  her  home  every  night. 
He  gives  me  a  look  I  don't  like,  an'  I  asks 
Number  8  what  it  means. 

"  'Oh,   don't  mind  him'  she  says,   'he 
used  to  belong  to  my  euchre.' 

.66 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Now,  if  I'd  been  wise  I'd  a-known 
Number  8  was  connin',  for  what  did  that 
little  fairy  know  about  euchre  parties?  I 
knows  now  that  she  was  pullin'  off  some 
speech  she  heard  in  the  theatre  where  the 
lady  shoots  the  dook  across  the  card  table 
because  he  brings  the  coachman  into  the 
parlor  to  get  a  drink  while  the  other  dook 
is  sayin'  his  good-by  speech.  I  is  .00 
sweet  on  the  fairy  then  to  know  l.izt  she's 
connin'  me. 

"Well,  jes'  the  last  week  we  was  playin' 
New  York,  who  does  I  meet  in  the  park 
lookin'  at  the  fish  but  Number  8.  She 
looks  so  sweet  an'  nice  that  it  all  comes 
back,  an'  me  up  an'  speaks.  She  says 
sorter  haughty : 

"'Who  are  you,  sir?  Whom  are  you 
addressin'  ? 

"Say,  that  hit  me  like  a  blast,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  I  get  a  welt  across  the  head 
wid  sumthin'  that  is  iron.  Say,  I  falls, 
but  is  up,  and  though  the  knock  has  given 
me  the  blood,  I  see  that  it's  the  guy  what 
cooks  the  buckwheats  in  the  window  who 
was  tryin'  to  do  the  killin'.  An'  say,  he 
has  run  out  of  his  bean  place  an'  hit  me 
wid  the  cake  turner.  I  grasps  him,  an'  it's 
catch-as-catch-can,  an'  Number  8  scream- 

67 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

in'  on  the  bench.  I  gives  him  a  couple  of 
good  ones  when  in  a  jiffy  it's  rainin' 
plates  an'  coffee  cups,  an'  I'm  gettin,  'em 
on  the  face.  Say,  his  whole  gang  from 
the  bean  shop  was  out  in  their  white  coats, 
throwin'  the  crockery  an'  me  gettin'  it. 

"I  knows  the  show  is  shut  up  an'  help 
is  a  long  way  off.  Somebody  yells,  'Lick 
the  brute,'  an'  I  gets  another  pie  plate  in 
the  eye. 

"  'What's  he  done?'  says  a  cab  driver. 

"  'He  insulted  me  wife,'  said  the  buck- 
wheat cake  man. 

"I  tried  to  explain,  but  he  gives  me  an- 
other one  with  the  cake-turner  an'  I'm  on 
the  asphalt. 

"I'se  gettin'  it  good,  an'  I  sees  I  must 
get  help  or  cut  the  season  for  the  city 
ward.    So  I  yells  'Hey,  Rube !' 

"Well,  what  do  you  think?  There  was 
a  couple  of  old  tramps  a-sleepin'  on  a 
bench,  an'  when  they  hears  me  scream, 
me  on  me  back  wid  the  buckwheat  man 
sittin'  on  me,  I  sees  'em  move,  I  yells  it 
again,  an'  one  of  them  wearies  says : 

"  'That  sounds  familiar-like  to  me.' 

"'Hey,  Rube!'  I  gives  it  again,  an', 
say,  they  gets  in,  an'  they  put  that  waiter 
gang  into  a  pile  that  looks  like  a  hash 
brown  in  a  spill."    (68) 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Well,  what  happened  to  you?"  said 
the  Canvasman,  who  was  always  there  for 
the  battle  tales. 

"Me,  say,  I  gets  it  all.  A  couple  of  din- 
nys  pulls  me  to  a  box,  an'  in  the  cell  all 
night  for  me.  An',  say,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  James  A.,  Lord  bless  his  soul,  me  to 
the  island  for  winter  quarters  an'  in 
stripes." 

"But  what  becomes  of  the  fairy?"  says 
the  Saw  Dust  Spreader,  who  always  likes 
to  know  the  finish. 

"What  becomes  of  her?"  says  the 
Candy  Butcher,  feeling  a  couple  of  scars. 
"I  hears  it  all  later.  She  had  married  the 
guy  an'  moves  over  to  Jersey.  He's 
keepin'  a  saloon,  an'  she's  cookin'  the 
oysters.    He  gives  one  with  every  drink." 


6* 


THE  CONCERT  MANAGER  GETS 
REMINISCENT. 

^pHE  MANAGER  of  the  concert 
V^  company  looked  like  a  Methodist 
minister  going  to  see  the  bishop. 
He  wore  a  high  silk  hat  and  a  last-win- 
ter's double-breasted  coat.  Whenever  he 
talked  he  held  the  hat  in  one  hand  and 
rubbed  it  with  the  other  so  that  it  looked 
like  a  clipped  yearling  at  a  country  run 
off.  His  voice  was  a  deep  bass,  and  when 
he  did  the  "remember  good  people  the 
Big  Show  is  not  yet  'arf  over"  from  the 
elevated  stage  you  could  gamble  on  the 
words  hitting  every  ear. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  ring  bank  look- 
ing over  his  touch  list  when  the  conver- 
sation grew  wavy  and  then  dropped  to  a 
hush. 

"This  here  tent  business  is  pullin'  down 
to  a  theatrical  man,"  he  said  as  he  lighted 
a  choked  stogie.  "Give  me  the  hall  show 
every  time  for  the  cush  and  comfort  an' 
I'll  be  easy  an'  shippin'  in  money  to  the 
backer  if  the  bookin's  is  good.     The  rep 

70 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

shows  is  the  thing  me  boys  if  you  can  de- 
liver, an'  you  can  strike  territory  that  ain't 
been  ploughed  to  death  by  a  lot  of 
yellows. 

"Had  out  a  rep  company  that  was  a 
winner.  We  was  playin'  'East  Lynne'  and 
doin'  it  good  with  six  people  and  a  band 
on  the  balcony  at  7  to  8.  The  way  we 
threw  them  dramatic  chunks  into  the  ten, 
twenty  and  thirts  was  sumthin'  remark- 
'ble.  We  wasn't  connin'  neither,  but  giv- 
in'  'em  a  show  that  had  'em  weepin'  from 
ring  up  to  las'  curt'n.  Say,  I  had  a  leadin' 
lady  that  was  the  genuine.  She  had  been 
up  three  times  before  the  school  commis- 
sioners for  declaimin'  an'  her  old  man 
thought  she  was  a  Alary  Anderson.  We 
joshed  him  along  on  the  Mary  Anderson 
gag  an'  the  old  guy  checked  in  with  a  five 
hundred  for  a  starter  to  get  the  fit  up  and 
the  gal's  costumes.  Say,  she  was  a  blonde 
with  a  figure  that  set  the  town  hall  to- 
night people  on  the  road  to  ruin  with  all 
brakes  off.  The  leadin'  man  was  a  cuff 
juggler  and  he  wouldn't  settle  down,  but 
he  doubled  in  props  an'  was  all  right.  The 
heavy  was  one  of  those  chesty  boys  who 
was  alles  givin'  me  the  jab  'when  1  was 
with    Booth.'      lie   started  out  all   right, 

Tl 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

all  right  in  the  first  act,  but  he  died  out 
before  the  curt'n  got  down;  the  old  man 
was  pretty  rotten,  thank  you,  but  the  way 
he  could  play  an  E  flat  cornet  on  the  bal- 
cony was  sumthin'  strictly  proper.  I'm 
jes'  tellin'  youse  what  you  can  do  with  a 
lot  of  bum  players,  if  you've  got  the 
goods,  an'  youse  gets  the  bookin's.  I  was 
workin'  the  crowd  on  a  $300  salary  an' 
playin'  up  into  the  gross  on  $750  a  week 
an'  livin'  like  the  man  what  owns  his  lay 
out.    But  I  let  go. 

"You  see  some  of  the  managers  down 
on  the  coal  oil  circuit  in  Central  Pennsyl- 
vania got  the  vaudeville  bug  and  was  yell- 
in'  for  specialties.  So  I  gets  the  soubrette 
to  do  a  rag  time  stunt  between  the  second 
an'  third,  an'  the  first  night  the  gal'ry 
window  jumps  nine  and  a  half  to  the 
good.  I  says  that's  what  they  wants  an' 
I  keeps  the  specialty  in  for  good.  But  the 
Lady  Isabel  of  the  push  was  getting  artis  • 
tic  an'  she  says  no  to  the  specialty.  I  says 
yes,  an'  her  old  man  comes  on  an'  says 
Mary  Anderson  didn't  have  no  gal  sing- 
in'  and  showin'  her  legs  in  her  show,  sc 
me  an'  the  old  guy  plays  quits.  Well,  it 
was  gettin'  warm,  so  I  pick's  up  me  little 
soubrette,  gets  a  privilege  at  a  fair  an' 

72 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

starts  in  to  do  the  black  tent.  We  had  a 
little  round  top,  blacker  on  the  inside 
than  a  Bow'ry  alley.  The  game  was  to 
get  the  yaps  inside,  all  lights  out,  flash  the 
calcium,  an'  then  do  the  floatin'  illusion. 
The  little  gal  would  float  roun'  the  tent 
an'  hand  me  out  roses,  and  the  gang 
would  go  daffy.  You  see  she  was  rigged 
up  in  one  of  these  white  gowns  an'  was 
chasm'  round  in  a  back  flap  stickin'  her 
head  and  body  through  wherever  I  had  a 
slit.  But  I  has  a  good  lime  light  man  an' 
the  payin's  never  coupled  to  the  con. 

"It  was  good  for  thirty  a  day  and  the 
privilege  was  cheap,  but  say,  the  finish 
was  tragic.  You  see  the  gal  had  run  off 
from  home,  where  she  was  makin'  three 
dollars  spinnin'  yarn  in  a  mill  an'  payin' 
her  people  two  fifty  board.  She  gets 
stuck  on  the  show  business  an'  goes  out 
with  a  rep,  where  I  picks  her  up.  Well, 
it  seems  that  her  old  man  gets  sort  o' 
dippy  'cause  he  didn'  do  the  right  thing 
by  the  little  one  an'  started  out  to  fin'  her. 
S<  'tnebody  tells  the  old  boy  she  is  dead  an' 
he  falls  flown  for  a  while.  But  he  gets 
Up  and  goes"  wanderin'  'bout  to  all  the 
shows  lookin'  for  the  gal.  Well,  he  gets 
into  my  show  one  day  an'  when  we  flashes 

73 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

the  illusion  there's  a  yell  an'  the  old  one 
says,  'me  daughter,  me  daughter,'  and 
the  gal  flops  an'  breaks  up  the  show.  She 
gets  sorry  an'  goes  home  with  the  gray 
hair  an'  I  loses  the  graft  and  strikes  this." 

The  Boss  Canvasman  started  in  to  do 
a  little  cussin'  because  the  round  top  over 
the  stage  was  sagging  and  he  broke  up 
the  talk. 

But  the  Press  Agent  wants  the  finish  of 
the  yarn,  and  he  speaks  up : 

"Well,  Pop,  what  became  of  the  gal?" 

"Oh,"  says  Pop,  "the  old  man  goes  un- 
der the  ground  an'  the  jig  stepper  goes 
back  to  the  business.  Last  season  she 
was  doublin'  with  the  iron  chested  man 
doin'  a  singin'  specialty  in  the  side  show. 
But  they's  both  out  now.  The  iron 
chested  man  is  yellin'  the  stations  on  the 
Ninth  Avenue  L,  and  the  Mamie  girl  is 
makin'  ten  a  week  posin'  for  chromos  that 
you  wouldn't  hang  over  the  thermometer, 
s'  help  me." 


74 


THE  HANDS   AT  THE 
WINDOW. 

^f  HE  man  who  sold  the  red  paste- 
^^  boards  at  the  ticket  wagon  always 
dressed  better  than  the  man  who  owned 
the  circus.  He  ran  largely  to  striped 
vests  and  wore  shirts  that  were  of  the  sas- 
siest shade  of  pink.  Like  the  Candy 
Butcher,  he  never  wore  his  coat  when  he 
was  working,  but  the  vest  and  the  trou- 
sers made  him  a  swell  enough  picture. 
The  rest  of  the  outfit  regarded  him  with 
the  same  awe  that  fills  the  spirit  of  a  man 
earning  twelve  dollars  a  week  who  acci- 
dentally runs  into  J.  Pierpont  Morgan. 
To  be  sure,  the  Ticket  Seller  never  had 
as  much  cash  as  the  Wall  Street  man,  but 
he  made  a  bigger  flash.  He  always  car- 
ried a  roll,  and  as  his  accounts  never 
failed  to  balance  and  he  stood  good  with 
the  Boss,  it  was  generally  presumed  that 
the  gold  boys  he  carried  in  his  upper  vest 
ket  were  his  own. 

The  [  on  the  ring  bank 

between  the  afternoon  and  the  night  show 

75 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

had  great  respect  for  this  member  of  the 
outfit.  He  had  a  line  of  talk  that  sounded 
big,  and  that  was  always  inspiring  to  the 
crowd.  He  knew  just  what  the  Big 
Show  was  taking  in,  and  he  liked  to  talk 
about  it.  He  talked  figures,  and  the  ring 
bank  crowd  only  knew  it  by  the  thousands 
of  people  that  roosted  on  the  blue  boards 
when  the  bill  was  being  run  off  under  the 
main  top.  *  In  the  winter  months,  when 
the  Big  Show  had  gone  to  quarters,  the 
Ticket  Man  managed  a  burlesque  house 
in  Chicago,  and  it  was  said  that  he  wore 
so  many  diamonds  on  the  pink  bosom  that 
it  wasn't  necessary  to  turn  on  the  lobby 
lights  when  the  night  audience  was  com- 
ing in.  He  was  a  loud  boy,  all  right,  but 
he  backed  the  noise  with  coin.  When  the 
Ticket  Man  wasn't  talking  about  money, 
he  let  loose  a  bunch  of  racing  talk  that 
would  have  feazed  the  principal  writer  on 
a  daily  turf  sheet.  He  used  words  that 
seldom  got  farther  than  the  paddock,  and 
he  picked  winners  like  a  diamond  expert 
getting  out  the  real  shines  from  a  pile  of 
glass. 

And  with  both  lines  of  talk  he  had  'em 
all  faded  when  it  came  to  the  con.  He 
had  a   line   of   explanations   that   would 

76 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

make  any  man  think  he  threw  down  a 
two-spot  when  he  knew  that  he  walked 
up  to  the  window  with  a  double  X. 

"Lemme  tell  you  fellows  sumthin'  "  he 
said,  as  he  came  in  after  supper  in  the 
meal  tent  and  sat  down  for  a  smoke. 
"You'se  can  always  hear  a  lot  of  knockin' 
for  the  boys  what  sells  in  the  wagon. 
Now  take  it  from  me,  don't  youse  believe 
a  word  of  it  till  youse  gets  the  other  side. 
You  hear  a  lot  of  hollerin'  that  ev'rybody 
is  gettin'  done,  and  that  the  boys  in 
the  wagon  is  buyin'  gov'ment  bonds  and 
furnishing  flats  on  the  short  change 
graft.  But  it  ain't  so — not  altogether.  It 
was  in  the  old  days,  when  I  started  in  the 
business,  but  it  ain't  now.  Graftin'  is. 
dead,  take  it  from  me." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Old  Grafter,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  "you're  right,  Bill,  graftin'  is 
dead,  an'  it  was  a  sorry  day  for  me  when 
it  died." 

"You're  right,  Jim;  half  way  right, 
but  it  won't  go  these  days.  But  what  I'm 
tellin'  you  is  right;  when  you  is  sellin' 
hard  tickets  to  a  long  line  that  is  rushin' 
to  gel  to  the  tent,  youse  can't  go  out  and 
have  a  personal  interview  with  every  man 
that  runs  away  an'  leaves  his  change  on 

77 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

the  window.  An'  say,  whose  goin'  to  take 
chances  givin'  it  up  when  he  does  come 
back?  Not  me,  not  me;  I  see  me  little 
bank-roll  in  the  Dime  Savin's  lookin'  like 
a  busted  baloon  on  the  end  of  the  season. 
Say,  don't  make  no  mistake,  ev'ry  hand 
at  the  window  is  a  hand  ag'in'  you.  I 
know  what  I'm  talkin'  about  There  ain't 
a  man  in  the  country  who  don't  think  he's 
doin'  a  smart  trick  when  he  beats  a  circus 
man  out  of  money.  They'll  all  do  you 
when  they  can.  Mark  my  word.  I've 
been  passing  out  hard  tickets  with  this 
outfit  for  nine  years  an'  long  before  that 
with  a  fly-by-night,  an'  I  knows  the  game 
— ev'ry  hand  that  comes  up  to  that  win- 
dow will  do  you  if  it  can.  I've  had  too 
many  Reubs  hand  me  a  two-dollar  bill  an' 
say  it  was  a  tenner." 

"What  do  you  do  then?"  asked  the 
Concert  Manager. 

"Do?"  said  the  Ticket  Man.  "Do? 
Why,  I'd  just  look  Reuben  in  the  eye  an' 
say  Brush  on,  haysy,  you  ain't  got  a  ten; 
wait  till  you  sell  your  wheat  an'  come  back 
an'  then  I'll  gamble  with  you." 

"It's  all  right  now,  dead  square  an'  on 
the  level,  but  youse  know  what  it  was  in 
the  graftin'  days,"  he  continued,   as  he 

IB 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

wiped  the  dust  off  his  patent  leathers  with 
a  horse  plume.  "We  turned  the  season 
them  days  with  a  bunch  of  money  that 
was  all  our  own,  and  nobody  kickin'.  I 
was  out  with  a  little  graftin'  show  that 
had  more  gamblin'  on  one  lot  than  a 
county  fair,  an',  say,  I  wasn't  takin'  no 
chances  with  them  grafters  an'  tinhorns! 
I  knowed  the  countries  would  buy  their 
tickets  before  they  went  at  the  games,  an' 
say,  I  wasn't  overlookin'  my  bit. 

"Me  an'  the  fixer  stood  pat.  He  trav- 
elled three  days  ahead,  an'  had  it  all 
squared  with  the  Mayor  of  the  burg  and 
the  police  so  the  games  could  go  on  an' 
no  kick.  Well,  he  would  get  hold  of  a 
smart  lookin'  constable,  take  him  aroun' 
back  of  the  courthouse  and  give  him  a 
talk.  The  constable  likes  it  bein'  taken 
into  the  confidence  of  a  showman,  an'  lets 
ev'rybody  see  it,  'cause  he's  proud. 

"Well,  the  fixer  sez,  'You're  a  smart 
lookin'  young  man ;  you  do  me  a  turn 
when  the  show  comes,  an'  if  the  Boss  likes 
you,  he  may  take  you  along  for  Chief 
Detective!' 

"Say,  that  hits  the  Reub  so  hard,  that 
Chief  Detective  talk,  and  for  three  days 
he's  seein'  visions  of  hisself  flashin'  his 

79 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

tin  all  along  the  line.  Well,  he  reports  to 
me,  and  I  gives  him  instructions  and  a 
ten-dollar  bill,  with  promise  of  a  five  after 
the  show  if  he  does  his  work.  I  posts 
him  in  front  of  the  window,  and  has  him 
fixed  to  butt  in  when  there's  any  kick,  an' 
say,  'No  arguments;  keep  movin',  gen- 
tlemen !' 

"An'  he  does  it  good,  and  I  throws  the 
short  change,  an'  with  the  band  a  goin' 
in  the  tent  and  the  crowd  crazy  to  get  at 
the  games,  I  picks  out  a  little  bag  of  coin 
before  the  tinhorns  lands  on  the  roll.  An' 
me  helper,  who  was  a  bit  of  a  mechanic, 
he  takes  the  sill  of  the  window  in  the 
wagon  and  tilts  it  with  the  slant  to  the  in- 
side. A  guy  comes  along  and  throws  up 
a  dollar  bill,  and  says  give  me  one.  With 
one  hand  I  throw  down  the  ticket,  an' 
with  the  other  throw  up  two  quarters,  or 
a  quarter  two  tens  and  a  five.  They  hit 
the  glass,  an'  say,  with  that  slant  some  of 
it  was  sure  to  come  back,  an'  Mr.  Man 
is  in  too  big  a  hurry  for  the  Big  Show  to 
notice,  an'  the  constable,  who's  to  get  the 
five,  keeps  'em  movin'.  At  night  the  con- 
stable says  he  wants  to  have  a  private  con- 
versation an'  takes  me  off. 

80 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"  'Look  a  here,'  sez  he,  'that  agent 
ahead  of  the  circus  sez  if  I  could  do  the 
work  I  might  be  made  chief  detective.' 

"Not  a  word,  keep  quiet,  says  I. 
You'll  spoil  it. 

"The  constable  don't  just  get  next,  but 
it  soun's  good.  'See  that  man  over  there?' 
sez  I.  Constable  looks  aroun'  an'  sees 
the  big  boy  that  alius  stood  by  the  gate 
an'  who  wasn't  no  more  of  an  officer  than 
me. 

"Well,  sez  I,  that  man  has  been 
watchin'  you.  He's  Mr.  Pinkerton  him- 
self, and  as  soon  as  he  makes  out  his 
official  report  to  Superintendent  Byrnes 
you  gets  the  job.  He  thanks  me  an'  I 
give  him  the  fivespot.  He  goes  home  an' 
tells  ev'rybody  for  the  names  I  spring 
was  so  good  he  didn't  see  through  the 
con.  But,  of  course,  I've  got  to  give  the 
fixer  a  bit.  An'  say,  that's  the  trouble 
with  graftin'.  You've  got  to  fix  too  many 
people  to  keep  from  gettin'  a  holler.  But 
none  of  it  now.  I  stick  to  what  I  says, 
that  ev'ry  hand  that  comes  up  to  the  win- 
dow is  a  hand  ag'in'  you,  and  will  do  you 
if  it  can.  You're  goin'  to  get  short 
change,  all  right,  but  don't  do  no  old- 
fashioned    graftin'.      I    tell    you    there's 

81 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

only  one  way  to  get  it  honest,  an'  if  the 
band  is  playin'  while  you're  sellin',  it  will 
keep  your  line  movin'  at  the  window,  an' 
it's  a  poor  evenin'  you  can't  pick  up  fif- 
teen at  least  that  was  left  and  nobody 
hurt.  Of  course,  I  «alls  them  back — but 
I  never  could  holler  loud." 

The  Ticket  Man  took  out  a  solid  gold 
watch,  with  a  stop  movement,  and  his 
initials  in  diamonds  on  the  back. 

"Well,   guess   I   better  get  at  it,   and 
he   left  and  went  to  the   ticket  wagon, 
where  on  the  inside  he  sat  on  a  little  stool 
with   the  tickets    in   one   hand   and   the 
change  on  the  other  side. 

Then  the  hands  began  to  come  up  and 
he  was  at  work  again. 


82 


The  Concert  Manager  Tells 

the  Boys  an  Elephant 

Yarn. 

'JT'HE  CONCERT  MANAGER 
\^  looked  like  a  corn  doctor  who  had 
dressed  up  to  go  to  the  City- 
Hall  for  his  license.  He  always  wore 
a  long  black  coat,  and  when  a  healthy 
ray  of  sunshine  hit  it  square  in  the 
back  it  threw  off  a  glare  like  a  loco- 
motive reflector.  He  had  a  smooth  face, 
wore  his  hair  long,  and  it  was  his  proud- 
est boast  that  once  down  in  Texarkana 
he  had  been  asked  if  he  was  William  Jen- 
nings Bryan.  As  the  question  was  put 
by  a  swarthy  Democrat  who  wanted  to 
buy  "sumthin',  "  he  said  he  was,  and  they 
both  liquored  up  the  rest  of  the  afternoon, 
and  no  discoveries. 

The  Concert  Manager  had  sifted  the 
English  language  down  to  about  nine  five- 
syllable  words,  and  the  rest  of  his  talk 
was  only  ordinary.  His  voice  was  his 
big  hit.  He  could  stand  on  the  elevated 
stage  between  Ring  One  and  Ring  Two, 

83 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

and  no  matter  what  was  going  on  hit 
every  ear  drum  with  his  gag  about  "di- 
rectly after  the  performance,"  "you  need 
not  leave  your  seats,"  and  that  "the  gen- 
tlemanly ushers  would  soon  pass  along 
selling  tickets."  His  voice  got  him  all  of 
the  announcing,  and  he  had  a  shape  that 
always  cast  him  for  some  big  guy  with 
fake  whiskers  when  they  were  doing  any- 
thing spectacular  for  the  entree. 

He  loved  to  address  the  multitude.  Let 
the  gang  sit  down  on  the  ring  bank  for  a 
chat  before  the  night  show,  and  it  was  he 
to  cut  in  with  a  talk — something  he  knew 
all  about  and  which  had  the  rest  of  the 
boys  winging  before  he  hit  the  end  of  the 
first  chapter.  He  had  more  different 
kinds  of  talk  than  any  man  in  the  outfit, 
and  he  always  yearned  to  be  handing  it 
out.  In  the  winter  he  ran  a  hall  show 
with  a  company  that  would  take  a  fall  out 
of  anything  from  "Hamlet"  to  a  melo- 
drama with  three  big  effects  and  a  whole- 
sale killing  in  each  act.  The  gang  was 
telling  hard  luck  stories  when  he  came 
across  the  track,  and  he  was  ready  with 
one  at  the  first  cue. 

"  'Say,  boys,'  he  said  with  one  of  those 
back  platform  gestures,  'I'll  tell  you  the 

84 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 
r 

star  hard  luck  story — say,  the  best,  and 
no  appeal.  Me,  a  long  time  ago  playing 
the  little  towns  in  Ohio  with  a  merrv-sro- 
round.  Think  of  it,  yes,  but  don't  laugh, 
for  it  was  a  good  game  in  them  days  and 
I  was  turnin'  coin.  We  put  up  on  a  lot 
for  four  days  for  a  county  fair,  an'  busi- 
ness is  so  good  that  I  stops  sleepin'  back 
of  the  tent  an'  goes  to  the  inn.  Well,  say. 
the  barkeeper  of  that  tavern  was  a  pass 
fiend  for  fair,  an'  he  keeps  strikin'  me  for 
free  rides  on  the  wooden  horses.  I  laughs 
him  off,  but  he  keeps  at  it.  So  one  day 
I  gets  mad  an'  throws  him  hard.  He 
looks  at  me  over  the  black  bottle  an'  sez : 
'Say,  you  give  a  free  ride  ev'ry  time  they 
gets  the  brass  ring,  don't  ye  ?' 

"I  says  'yes,'  an'  he  shuts  up  like  a  law 
abider,  an'  that  ends  it.  But  what  do  you 
suppose  that  glass  rubber  does?  Say,  he 
comes  out  to  the  lot  with  his  gang,  an' 
while  he  wasn't  lookin'  he  pours  a  hole 
bottle  of  gildin'  fluid  into  the  ring  slide, 
an,  say,  everybody  on  the  lot  was  gettin' 
gold  rings  an'  ridin'  free  all  night.  It 
hit  me  so  hard  I  had  to  fold  up  and  to  the 
wagons  an'  do  the  sneak  without  settlin' 
me  lasl  payment  on  the  privilege  to  the 
fair  folks."' 

85 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

*  This  seemed  to  please  the  ring  bank 
crowd  and  the  Concert  Manager  was  full 
of  loose  gab.  Finally  the  talk  drifted  to 
animals,  and  then  to  elephants,  and  up 
speaks  the  Concert  Manager. 

"I  never  comes  through  the  animal 
tent  and  sees  the  elephant  herd,"  he  says, 
"but  it  has  me  rememberin'  sumthin'  that 
happens  when  I'm  with  the  John  Robin- 
son show  doin'  the  talkin'  from  the  ring 
an'  makin'  me  extra  with  a  couple  of  black- 
face turns,  a  singin'  act  an'  a  knockabout 
after  the  Big  Show. 

"Say,  for  real  heart  them  elephants  has 
got  all  humanity  beat  to  a  standstill. 
Seems  to  me  that  the  worst  weakness  that 
is  in  the  breast  of  man  is  the  feelin'  that 
pulls  him  away  from  another  man  when 
they  ought  to  be  stickin'  together.  Say, 
it  ain't  many  a  man  that  remembers  a 
good  turn,  and  kind  acts  is  forgotten  as 
quick  as  money  that's  owin'.  But  them 
big  boys  with  the  trunks,  say,  they  ain't 
forgettin'  nothin'.  Youse  can  do  a  good 
turn  for  a  man  an'  he'll  throw  you  the 
next  day,  but  the  elephant  ain't  forgettin' 
the  one  what  has  done  him  sumthin'  good, 
be  he  man  or  beast. 

86 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Well,  in  them  days  we  was  carryin' 
six  big  fellows,  an'  part  of  my  game  was 
to  let  their  backs  out  to  the  storekeepers 
for  banners.  I'd  lay  it  out  with  some 
drygoods  dealer  that  was  enterprisin' 
enough  to  do  some  real  sensational  ad- 
vertisin'.  Then  we'd  have  the  banners 
painted,  swing  'em  over  the  backs,  an' 
Mr.  Mann  has  a  good  showin'  when  we 
makes  the  parade  down  the  street.  I  was 
payin'  the  trainer  a  little  extry  to  see  that 
the  banners  got  on,  and,  say,  that  boy  for 
liquor  was  the  original  reservoir.  It 
seems  that  the  money  I'm  givin'  him 
alius  buys  a  drink.  He  keeps  it  up  right 
along  an'  gits  many  a  warnin'.  There 
wasn't  a  guy  with  the  outfit  that  could 
handle  the  beasts  like  he  could,  an'  the 
Boss  was  alius  afeerd  sumthin'  would 
happen. 

"And  it  did  by  and  by.  The  trainer 
don't  pay  attention  to  the  warnin',  and 
one  matinee  he  queers  the  act.  He  gets 
his  elephants  all  mixed  up  in  his  ring,  an' 
there  comes  near  bein'  a  breakaway  but 
for  a  lot  of  spearin'.  The  Boss  sees  it  all, 
an'  he  gets  the  trainer  out  without  any 
talk.  The  boys  gets  the  elephants  back  to 
their  stable,  but  ev'ry  one  is  looking  for 
trouble.  87 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"Well,  say,  the  Big  Show  is  started  an' 
about  halfway  through  when  the  Boss 
Canvassman  is  ready  to  strike  the  animal 
tent  an'  make  for  the  cars.  The  horses  is 
put  to  the  dens,  an'  they  is  all  soon  on  the 
road,  with  the  walkin'  stock  followin'. 
Then  the  boys  gets  to  the  elephants  an' 
tries  to  start  'em,  but  not  a  one  will  move. 
They  gives  them  the  spear,  but  not  a 
move.  They  gets  to  holler  in'  an'  more 
spearin',  but  they  might  as  well  tried  to 
move  mountains.  The  Boss  come  in,  an' 
he  tries  it,  but  no  go.  They  moves  a  lot 
of  hay  down  the  lot,  thinkin'  it  will  make 
'em  look  for  another  feedin',  but  no  go. 
Then  one  of  the  trainers  what  had  been 
helpin'  the  head  trainer  Stan's  out  an' 
calls  'em  by  name.  They  flaps  their  big 
ears,  but  not  a  move.  It's  time  for  the 
section  to  be  pullin'  out,  an'  we  all  hands 
is  up  against  it. 

"Well,  I  sez  to  myself,  here's  your 
chance  to  be  smart  an'  redeem  it  all  for 
Jed, — the  trainer  what  was  fired  for 
drinkin'.  I  hustles  over  to  the  tavern  an' 
finds  Jed  puttin'  away  the  juice  like  he 
was  loadin'  a  train.  I  gives  him  a  long 
talk  an'  tells  him  about  the  elephants.  He 
calls  'em  his  darlings  an'  wants  to  buy 
more  drink.    I  begs  him  to  come  over  an' 

88 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

help  us  out,  but  he's  sore  on  the  Boss  an' 
won't  make  a  move.  After  awhile  I  gets 
him  to  thinkin',  an'  he  sez  he'll  do  it.  Jed 
was  pretty  full  an'  was  staggerin',  but  I 
gets  him  to  the  lot  where  ev'ry  animal 
man  in  the  outfit  is  a  spearin'  them  beasts, 
while  the  Boss  is  cussin',  an'  the  whole 
town  roostin'  on  the  sidewalk  an'  givin' 
us  the  laugh.  I  gets  Jed  in  an'  right  in 
front  of  the  Boss. 

"The  Boss  is  still  sore,  and  sez,  'Take 
that  loafer  away.' 

"Wait,  sez  I. 

"Then  afore  there  could  be  any  argu- 
ment Jed  staggers  out  in  front  of  the 
herd,  and,  leaning  heavy-like  on  the  bale 
of  hay,  begins  callin' : 

"  'King.'  he  yells. 

"The  biggest  bull  in  the  herd  lifts  his 
ear,  then  holds  up  his  trunk  an'  gives  a 
shriek  that  scares  the  crowd  white. 

"  'Stop  that  spearin' !'  sez  Jed,  an' 
every  animal  man  gits  out  of  the  way. 

"  'King!'  yells  Jed  again,  an'  with  that 
he  walks  over  an'  touches  the  elephant  on 
the  trunlc.  The  big  bull  wheels  around 
and  struts  away. 

'Sam,  Dick,  Boss,  Frank!'  keeps  yell- 
in'  Jed,  an'  the  whole  herd  is  turnin'  an' 
takin'  the  road  to  the  depot. 

89 


Red  Wagon  Stories. 

"The  crowd  on  the  lot  is  cheerin',  an' 
the  animal  men  walk  along  by  the  beasts, 
but  there's  no  more  spearin'.  Jed  jes' 
leans  against  the  hay  an'  keeps  callin'. 
He  finishes,  an'  as  the  last  elephant  comes 
along  he  loops  down  with  his  trunk,  an' 
pickin'  Jed  up  sits  him  on  his  trunk  an' 
walks  away  proud  like  jes,  as  he  does  in 
Ring  Three  at  the  finish  of  the  act. 

"Say,  the  Boss  is  almost  wild  about  it, 
an'  the  whole  town  follows  the  herd  to  the 
train.  The  Boss  had  Jed  put  in  the 
sleeper,  but  Jed  won't  have  it,  and  crawls 
out  to  sleep  in  the  elephant  car,  where  he 
was  most  at  home. 

"Say,  that's  what  I  call  havin'  a  heart. 
Them  elephants  knew  that  voice.  Jed 
had  been  leadin'  'em  up  hill  and  down  hill, 
from  sea  to  sea,  an'  they  wasn't  goin'  to 
have  it  any  other  way." 

"Well,  did  they  take  him  back  for 
good?"  asked  the  Saw  Dust  Spreader. 

"Take  him  back,"  said  the  Concert 
Manager.  "Well,  I  should  say,  an'  the 
Boss  gives  him  a  gold  watch  with  ele- 
phant engravin'  on  it,  with  a  fancy  band 
with  some  wordin'  about  bein'  a  faithful 
servant. 

"An',  say,  Jed  was  sober  after  that 
durin'  the  season,  but  when  we  got  into 
quarters  the  tavern  for  Jed  all  the  time." 


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